


Blind Sight

by littlechivalry



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, HP: EWE, M/M, blind!Draco, blind!harry (temporarily)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-21 16:19:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 42,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7394632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlechivalry/pseuds/littlechivalry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war is over,and the world has changed. What sacrifices must be made for peace? For happiness? For love? Disregards DH.<br/>(repost from ff.net)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He was blind. Voldemort was dead, but the resulting spell flash had burned out his retinas, and even Pomphrey, with her endless arsenal of potions and charms, couldn't do anything.

Harry spent weeks in the infirmary, waiting for some change, a flash of light or color, but every day he was faced with the unending blackness. He closed and opened his eyes every morning and night, but the only difference was the soft sensation of his eyelashes against the tender skin.

Draco was at his side every day, of course, holding his hand, talking to him, describing each visitor, and when they stopped coming after the first week or two, the surroundings, and the scenery from the windows. When even those things grew tired, Draco painted verbal pictures of the home the two would eventually share, with children and pets running wild across the yard, through the rooms. Sometimes the house was small and comfortable, other times grand and imposing, echoing with laughter and happy voices.

His descriptions were always followed by a simple question, which was in turn chased by the negative response, sometimes grudging, sometimes forceful, from the dark-haired boy.

But Harry wasn't happy.

He had chased away all of his visitors, weeping and railing against the darkness he was in, screaming in jealousy that they could see and he could not, even as they limped or were carried away, bearing their own grievous wounds.

Again Draco told him a beautiful story about the life they would have, this time in an apartment high over New York City, where they would raise two boys and a very spoiled owl.

When he was done, he asked as he had every night, "Harry, will you marry me?"

With a fierce scream, Harry said no, insisted that he couldn't marry a man he couldn't see, swore that if he had his vision back, he would marry Draco in a heartbeat.

That night, and each night after, Draco's quiet, "will you marry me," was answered the same way, "If I could only see the world, I would marry you."

A few nights later, he heard heated whispers, but couldn't make out the words. The next morning, Madame Pomphrey told him there was a treatment that could give him back his vision. Another wizard had donated their eyes, and soon, Harry would be able to see.

Harry knew organ donations happened in the muggle world, but he had no idea they were possible for wizards. He was sad that someone had to die for his eyes, but still…

That night, Harry cried in Draco's arms again, but for the first time in a longtime, they were happy tears.

A few days later, Harry sat up in bed, waiting for the medi-witch to cut off the last layer of bandages. Already he could see faint traces of light, and shadows moving across the thin gauze.

When the bandage was finally removed, the sun hit his face like a physical blow, but blinking tearily, he forced his eyes open.

Around him were his friends, or what the war had left of them. Hermione stood hand in hand with Ron, but her opposite sleeve hung loose and empty. His red-headed friend leaned heavily on a gnarled cane. Neville blushed lightly and waved, and Harry watched even that soft gesture shift the mass of scar tissue at the boy's throat.

New eyes burning, Harry searched the small group for the silvery blond hair he remembered, Pomphrey, following his gaze, spoke up, "He's sleeping Harry," and waved at a curtained bed in the shadows. "Poor dear worried himself sick, I told him to get some rest."

Disappointed, Harry still forced a smile and tried to catch up with his friends, but he tired quickly and they let themselves out as he drifted off to sleep, fighting the weight of his eyelids the entire time.

When he woke, a few hours later, he could feel Draco's presence next to him, the boy's breath moving slowly, and his body heat soaking into the small bed. Smiling, Harry reached for Draco, catching hold of the boy's robes, then losing it again as the Slytherin flinched away

"Draco? Are you alright?"

The other boy cleared his throat, "I'm sorry, I was just surprised."

Night had fallen sometime in the hours Harry slept, and he found himself back in the position he had been in for so long, the dark. He was scared, but there was a strange familiarity in it, and he ran his fingers gently over the blonde's skin, the only way he had been able to 'see' his love for those dark months.

As he traced calloused fingertips over delicate bones and silken skin, he could almost picture what he was touching, and as his hands went higher, ghosting over the other boy's lips and cheeks, he felt the soft sting of eyelashes against the sensitive pads on the very tip of his fingers—

"Stop."

Draco's voice was quiet, but sure. Harry had never been stopped before. During the time he was blind, he had spent hours running his hands over the Slytherin, reassuring himself the boy was still there, hadn't disappeared.

Harry reached out again, and felt his hands grabbed in a firm grip. Draco's voice came out of the darkness again, "will you marry me?"

Harry pulled his hands free, wrapping his arms around himself. "I want to see you, one way or another."

"Will you marry me?"

Harry huffed, "Ask me again tomorrow," then turned facing away from his love and fell asleep, arms still wrapped tight against his stomach.

The next morning he woke in Draco's arms, cradled on his chest. Looking up, he saw Draco's face, soft and familiar, and he let his eyes trace where his fingers had gone before. The other boy's lips seemed pinker than he had remembered, if chapped, and the purple shadows were dark beneath closed eyelids.

He poked Draco in the shoulder, once, then again. The boy shifted, and without opening his eyes, flailed around on the small night table for a pair of sunglasses that Harry hadn't noticed before.

Harry reached for the glasses, but Draco awkwardly blocked his hand, "Sorry love, the head-ache."

Harry put his arm back where it had been and cuddled closer to the familiar scent of Draco's skin.

"Harry? Will you marry me?"

Harry pushed his face closer into the warm press of Draco's robes and ignored the question. He grunted as he was nudged until he finally raised his head and looked his boyfriend in the… sunglasses.

"Draco, take of the glasses."

"Answer my question first."

"I want to look you in the eye before I answer."

Draco smiled a small, twisted smile, "Not that it will do any good," and removed the sunglasses.

His lashes were as long as Harry remembered, shining softy in the weak morning light, but Harry wanted a look into the grey eyes he had pictured so many times, but they didn't open. Harry demanded it.

"Sorry love, can't do it. Asked Pom to seal them closed, they weren't doing me any good anyway, and it's better this way."

Harry felt a cold shudder down his back, "You're blind?" Draco opened his mouth, but Harry cut him off, "You've been blind this whole time and you never told me? When you were telling me about the scenery, and the visitors, when you told me Hermione and my friends were smiling, looked happy, was that a lie? Were you lying to me?"

Draco tried to speak, but nothing came out. Gathering his dignity around him along with the sheet, Harry got out of the bed, "I'm going to the bathroom. I'd prefer it if you weren't here when I got back."

Harry felt the tug and turned to see Draco's hand gripping the sheet.

The boy spoke, "I love you, Harry."

Harry pulled away, "I know, but I can't look at you right now."

Harry walked slowly to the bathroom, almost hoping Draco would stop him, even if he had no idea what to say.

In the bathroom he caught sight of something moving from the corner of his eye. When he turned, he found himself face to face with the mirror. In the time he was blind he had forgotten about mirrors, but now he took the time to study his image.

He didn't look any different, skinnier maybe, his ribs were visible, and the hollows of his eyes were bigger, the bones of his face more stark, sharper.

And then he saw his eyes.

A bright silver grey.

He tore himself away from his new, mercury gaze, and went back to the infirmary bedrooms, but Draco was gone. Throwing on trousers and a jumper as fast as he could, he raced out of the room, shouting for Draco down every corridor, to be met with nothing but silence and questioning stares.

After the weeks he spent in bed, he got winded easily, and when he couldn't search anymore, he made his way back to the infirmary and collapsed on his bed, crumpling a piece of paper beneath him.

Pulling it free, he held it closer to his face, surprised and saddened to see that his new eyes didn't seem to need glasses, that they were perfect.

The note was short, and Harry recognized the fine script that graced the wrinkled page.

- _Take care of your eyes, love, before they were yours, they were mine. I hope the world is beautiful for you._

A few days later, Harry was released from the hospital wing, health as good, or better, than it had ever been. He searched the castle from top to bottom, but could find no sign of the Slytherin boy.

He asked every Slytherin he could find, but even those who agreed to speak to him, few though they were, said they knew nothing. When he told his friends about his search, they told him not to worry, that Draco could care for himself.

Harry searched for months with no clue, no hint, of where his love could be. Every time he grew discouraged, or wanted to give up, he looked into a mirror.

He had Draco's eyes, but Draco had his heart. They would find each other.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Draco**

He thought he wouldn't survive it.

When the battle was over, when Harry screamed and fell, Draco felt his heart stop, only to have it start again when Madame Pomphrey said Harry would live, he would wake up.

Endless nights spent by Harry's bedside, watching the parade of broken and bleeding bodies travel back and forth. Hermione's arm had gone to a werewolf, untransformed, driven mad with pain; but she had still managed to use her wand with the other to stop her own bleeding and Neville's beside her. They would both survive, but the boy would never talk again. Weasley had been lucky in comparison, knocked from the battlements of the tower, he fell to the ground and shattered both legs, but it would heal. Hermione's arm would never grow back, and neither would Harry's eyes.

Draco had made it through the final battle relatively unscathed, and that almost made it worse. To watch his friends, the people that he loved, hurt and trying to recover, when all he had were some new scars to add to his collection, cut him deeper than any curse had managed.

After Harry woke up, the boy spent the first few days crying, over lost friends and his lost vision. For that first week, Draco never let go of his hand, at Harry's insistence.

And it felt so good to have the boy awake, alive, that Draco would have held on anyway

After they both managed to pull themselves together, Draco tried to get Harry interested in learning how to be a blind wizard, how to find his way around, to use magic without his sight, but the Griffindor wasn't interested.

The truth was, as much as Draco loved him, he was frustrated. He'd spent hours researching ways for Harry to live something like a normal life, and almost lost his voice trying to convince his love that there was still a world outside of the hospital wing.

But all the boy wanted to do was sleep, and cry. Part of Draco understood, and wanted to hold Harry and let him cry, let him fall apart. But the other part was scared that he might end up losing his black-haired love completely.

After Pomphrey said there was nothing to be done, Draco continued his research, not just for tricks and spells to make life easier for Harry, but for something that could cure him.

And he found it.

Some scholar had taken the muggle idea of organ transplants and applied it to the magical world. With the aid of certain spells to prevent the body's rejection of the new tissue, a new heart, or spleen, or lung could be gotten from anyone without the worry over blood types, and implanted with protection against the infections that could end up killing.

All that was needed was to find a donor, a new pair of eyes, but Draco never really searched, though he knew there would be scores of volunteers.

Perhaps it was selfish, but this was something he could do for Harry, something he could give his love. It wasn't the moon and the stars, but it was the world, in full color.

Pom argued ferociously against it, told him to give up such an insane notion, that it was better for Harry to learn to live as he was.

But Draco insisted, and Pomphrey eventually gave in.

He spent the night before the surgery holding Harry as the brunette boy wept tears of joy in his arms, memorizing the Griffindor's features and engraving them in his mind's eye. When the morning came, Pom put Harry to sleep, then Draco.

Draco knew he wasn't just losing part of his eyes, but the whole thing, so he asked Pom to seal the empty cavities when she was done, finding out what he'd done would be hard enough on Harry without seeing the scars it left behind.

( _12345_ )

He thought he would wake up immediately after the operation, but it had taken a greater toll on him than expected, and he woke up the night after Harry had.

It was almost funny, to wake up in a darkness that would never end.

He tried again, to get Harry's agreement to his proposal, but the boy put it off. He couldn't see Harry's face, couldn't tell how he was feeling, but his voice was cold. The harsh edge it had held since the boy woke up blind was gone, but there was still something… distant.

The next morning, when Harry discovered Draco was blind, the Slytherin wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.

Harry thought he had been blind along?

There would have been something poetic in that, romantic, the two of them sharing the darkness, but instead Draco froze.

He could feel Harry getting up, the mattress shifted under him, and the cool brush of the sheet as it was pulled away.

Reaching out, he grabbed it, tried to stop Harry, to explain. But what would he say? If he confessed, Harry would stay, but Draco didn't want him to stay out of pity, or guilt, or even gratitude.

He said the only thing he could, the only words that were real to him, "I love you."

And he heard that voice move away from him, away into the darkness, "I know, but I can't look at you right now."

Harry… couldn't look at him?

Draco got up and out of the room carefully, he found Pomphrey waiting just outside the door. Draco knew how much she loved a good romantic moment, and felt bad for ruining this one for her.

But then, it had been ruined for him too, hadn't it?

"Pom, I- I need to go."

The older woman gripped his arm and led him to the Headmaster's office.

McGonagall sounded as though she understood, but she didn't try to dissuade the Slytherin boy. Another time, another day, Draco would assume it was part of the greater bias against Slytherin's in general and Malfoys in particular and pitch a fit, but he was too tired. He'd been awake for a bare hour or two, and already he felt as though he'd aged years, decades.

The Floo opened with a roar, and Draco announced his destination clearly.

"The Burrow."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Chapter 2. The plan is to post this a chapter a day and on the last day post the final (currently unwritten) chapter. Thank you so much for your kudos and bookmarks. I hope you're enjoying the story.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**Draco**

In the weeks Harry had been blind, Draco spent every hour he could researching. Hermione tried to help, but she was more preoccupied with her own recovery and Ron's, and Draco couldn't begrudge her.

There were hundreds of spells that had been devised over centuries specifically to help blind wizards cope with day to day life, from guiding/locating spells to help find items on tables, or in cabinets, to cushioning charms to prevent the inevitable bumps and bruises.

Draco had also done research on transition living facilities. He knew Harry was having a hard time, and Hermione had found a half-way house that catered to people who became blind later in life, teaching them Braille, and how to organize their lives to cope with their new disability.

It was a Muggle facility, Draco thought Harry would be happier there, and if the magic ever failed, he would still be able to live a normal life.

When Draco decided to give up his eyes, he kept the reservations. He didn't know if he wanted to go, and he didn't know if he could feel safe that vulnerable around Muggles, but he was hoping Harry would be with him when he went.

That wasn't going to happen now.

The familiar scent of cinnamon and soap flakes drifted towards him as arrived at the Burrow and brushed ash off of his robe. He had no way of knowing if he'd gotten it off, or if there had been any there in the first place, but better safe than sorry.

He jumped when Molly Weasley's arms wrapped around him, but buried the accompanying squeak of surprise in her shoulder.

"Draco, love? Did it work," she asked, and Draco felt himself being set back on his feet.

He wondered what she saw; the sunglasses had been abandoned back in the infirmary. _Did he look the same? Was he scarred?_

"Now then, Harry is just behind you, isn't he? I've got lunch ready for both of you, and then George will be by later to drive you over. Draco? You've gone pale. Did something go wrong? Where is Harry?"

Draco opened his mouth, stopped, and swallowed forcefully through the lump in his throat.

"He's not coming. He doesn't want to see- He can't look at me, so I thought it was best to- just to go."

The arms surrounded him again, but this time Draco had braced himself. Molly cried quietly, but Draco had noticed in the infirmary that everything seemed louder and he could hear her as clear as day. As the damp began to soak into his robe he wished someone would come and break up this moment. Draco hadn't cried, hadn't shed one tear, and he had no desire to start.

"Draco? Pom told me what happe- Oh, hey Mum."

Molly sniffled heavily, "Don't you 'hey mum' me, Charlie. You take me back to Hogwarts on that motor-bikel of yours and I'll give our Harry a good talking to."

Draco sighed, "No."

"But, Draco dear-"

"No. He… He's said how he feels. He doesn't want to see me? Well, then he doesn't have to. It's probably for the best. I can use this time to learn, to get used to… to how things will be now. And besides," Draco said, turning a gentle smile to where he thought Molly was standing, "You're his family. He needs you on his side now."

Then Draco turned towards Charlie's voice, "I'm ready to go, and I don't want to wait for George. Can you take me? I sent most of our things ahead, so you can just bring Harry's back with you.

I- I should be happy, right? After all, now I can have the whole closet to myself."

Draco laughed slightly, awkwardly, but the room seemed to echo with it. Taking off his robe and handing it to Molly, leaving him in Muggle jeans and a jumper, he let Charlie lead him to the motorcycle and held on to the red-head tight, trying to focus on the sensation of whipping down the road, so much like flying.

And if thin trails of salt water made their way down his face as they rode away from the Burrow, from the wizarding world, from Harry…

Well, that was just the wind, burning his skin.

( _12345_ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 is up. I am still trying to work out my formatting so if anything hits the eye oddly please let me know.


	4. Chapter 4

**Draco**

Draco had seen pictures of the facility when he researched it, so as the motorcycle rolled to a stop, he knew they were at the foot of a long paved drive, bordered with dandelions and forget-me-nots.

Beyond that sat Hamilton House, faced with Doric columns and a sparkling white exterior, but he had taken a tour of the converted manor before making the reservation, and as impressive as the outside was, the inside was cozy, more like a small apartment building than a hospice center, though it had a well-trained medical staff for the residents.

Draco tucked his hand into the crook of Charlie's elbow and let the red head lead him to the door. Once there, Charlie would leave and an attendant would take over, giving Draco his first lessons in how to live, blind.

Draco had been at Hamilton House for six weeks and his days were busy. He learned how to operate appliances as a blind person, made extra difficult by the fact that he hadn't known how to operate a stove or a washing machine when he could see.

He was learning how to read Braille, and how to organize his money, and his closet, so he could find whatever he wanted by memory, with cues from the textured labels he learned how to make and attached to everything. He might be blind, but that didn't mean he had to be badly dressed.

Eventually spells would take care of a lot of these chores, but Draco found some peace in learning how to do things for himself, without help from wands, or house elves, or any other person.

There were periodic outings to the nearby village of Haxley. The villagers were used to the regular influx of sunglass-wearing outsiders tapping white canes over their cobblestone streets and treated the visitors with a kindness and respect Draco hadn't expected from strangers, muggle strangers at that.

Wednesday and Saturday were visiting days at Hamilton House. The first week, the entire Weasley family and most of his friends descended on him, and he'd spent the majority of Saturday trying to explain all the things he still didn't understand to Arthur, until Molly was kind enough to lead her husband away. After that they kept the visitors to a minimum, it was too overwhelming to be surrounded by a crowd, no matter how friendly it was.

Those were his regular visitors, Weasleys and his friends. No one told him anything about Harry, and he never asked. He just focused on learning as much as he could about his new life.

The days were difficult, everything was new, and not only did he have to learn that, but he had to hide his magic as well. Simple charms that could help him coordinate an outfit or find a fallen fork were out of reach to him. Sometimes it was frightening, or frustrating, but he gritted his teeth and went on, and it got easier with time.

The nights were worse.

In the infirmary, he had spent every night with Harry's hand clutched tight in his, but there was no one there now and Draco finally understood what had prompted the Griffindor to hold on with such passion.

It was one thing to be blind during the day, bumping through rooms and around people, and quite another be blind at night. Draco felt more alone than he had ever been, and he ached for another body, for a hand to hold, to make him real. No matter how tightly he fisted his hands into the sheet there was nothing keeping him anchored in the darkness and he was scared.

In those hours, the only thing he really wanted was Harry, but Harry wasn't there. Harry didn't want him.

Eventually, Draco would fall asleep, and a new day would start.

Of all of his guests, Charlie was his favorite. He never mentioned Harry, or Hogwarts, or the war. Instead, they talked about music. Draco wasn't surprised to learn how much the Weasley son enjoyed muggle music, but his own infatuation with it came as a shock.

Every week-end, Charlie brought, or sent, new CD's. Jazz and metal, classical and country-western. Draco had developed a weakness for Patsy Cline, not just a muggle, an American muggle, but Charlie promised not to say anything and Draco believed him.

Neville was a welcome visitor as well. The patient boy was willing to hold Draco's hand for hours on end in silence, letting the blond Slytherin vent out the frustrations of another week in the dark, and Draco felt safe sharing his weakness with someone who would never be able to tell.

It grew easier to sleep after a while, though the nightmares never really went away, and Draco began to appreciate the world of his other senses more, learning to cook, and working in the gardens.

After two months, he felt it was time to move on, to go somewhere new and start again. He was alone, but he would manage.

( _12345_ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 is live and i was planning to write this evening but the heat and an adrenaline crash (i came thisclose to being hit by a car) have sapped any creative juices i might have had running. Maybe tomorrow.


	5. Chapter 5

** Harry **

Nightmares again.

_Draco walked towards him, pale and beautiful as always, but sad. Harry couldn't see it in his face, that was expressionless as always, but the boy's blond fringe hung messily over his eyes, and Harry saw why when a white hand reached shakily towards him holding two delicate orbs. Harry pushed the heavy fall of hair away from Draco's face but behind it were two gaping holes pouring bloody tears and always Draco was muttering, muttering until it became a scream, "I can't look at you Harry. **I can't look at you!** "_

Harry woke with a gasp, one hand pressed to his chest as if that would stop his frantic heart beat. When he caught his breath, he tried to relax into the mattress and clear his mind, but all he could see was Draco, crying.

It had been two months of constant searching, with no result. Someone had to know where the blond Slytherin was, but none of them were talking.

After Draco left, and Harry was recovered enough, he searched Hogwarts from top to bottom, even venturing back into the Chamber of Secrets, with no result. He asked every Slytherin, every Griffindor, everyone he could think of that might have an idea where Draco went. But no one talked to him, and most of the ones who did said Harry didn't deserve to know, or Draco didn't deserve to be found, blood traitor that he was.

It took those people a rather long time to recover from their mistake.

Even the Weasley's refused to say anything. Charlie wasn't talking to Harry at all, and Molly always had a sad look in her eye when they spoke. Neither of them said anything directly to Harry about Draco, but that almost made it worse. Hermione said he was being silly, but Harry knew he had disappointed the family he thought of as his own, and it would take a long time and a lot of work to atone for what he did to the Slytherin boy.

After Hogwarts, Harry had searched Hogsmeade, and then Diagon Alley, turning Knockturn upside down. A few enterprising people had offered Harry information for a price, but Snape's Legilmancy lessons served their purpose and Harry knew the truth from the lies they were selling.

Harry went to Malfoy Manor. The gutted carcass of Draco's familial estate stood out like a burnt skeleton against the sky. It was hard to believe that only one year ago, it had been the jewel in Voldemort's crown. Shortly after Narcissa discovered that the Dark Lord was planning to displace the Malfoy family, and take Draco 'under his wing,' the stoic blonde appeared on the front steps of Grimmaud Place with her very cowed son at her side, asking for asylum and offering help in the upcoming war.

For the first time, it was someone else having the nightmares, and Harry comforted Draco as the blond sobbed into his pillow every night, shaking fiercely, especially after his mother had to go into hiding. In those dark hours the two spoke about everything, and nothing. They had been roomed together in the first place because there was no other space and theirs was the only bedroom with wards on the door, so the inhabitants could be alternately guarded and guarded against.

Harry was surprised to learn what they had in common. Actually, he was surprised at how little it was. Somewhere deep down, he always assumed that beneath the veneer of hatred and spite, he and Draco were a lot alike, only to find that nothing could be further from the truth.

Harry loved Quidditch, Draco hated it, playing because his father made him. Harry loved sweets, Draco hated them, and would sometimes gag when he saw Harry and Ron stuffing puddings and cakes into their mouths.

After a few months of hiding out, Harry loved Draco. But Draco hated Harry.

One night Harry caught Draco half way through a carton of strawberry gelato. At that point Harry began to question his assumptions.

Two weeks later, they were in the middle of a screaming row when Draco grabbed Harry by the ears, pulled him in, and kissed him.

Harry rubbed absently at his lips, then more firmly at his ears which, at the time, had bruised beautifully and taken three weeks to heal. Some sensations seemed to stay under his skin, and that was one he'd never forget.

Shaking his head to clear out the memories and recrimination, Harry went back to the maps he had spread over the table at Grimmaud Place. Covering the magical world, Britain had been crossed off already. There was a good-sized Wizarding community in France, and that was his next stop.

Across the vast mahogany expanse, Harry heard a gentle clearing of a throat. He looked up at Hermione and without meeting his eyes, the girl shook her head 'no.'

"Not France? Well, how about Spain?"

Again the silent 'no.'

Harry had invited Ron and Hermione back to Grimmaud Place after they all realized that as much as they loved the Burrow, it wasn't really wheelchair accessible. And Ron was healing slowly, the muggle way, as Skele-Grow could work when a bone was broken or missing, but not shattered. So now Harry was sharing his house with two of his favorite people in the world, and they were both refusing to talk to him about the third.

Until now.

Slowly, following tiny gestures, Harry found out that Draco wasn't in any of the Wizarding communities. He was in the Muggle world.

It looked like Hermione was about to tell him something more definite, her mouth open and a gleam in her eye, when Ron came rolling into the room, cracking the steel frame of his chair against door frames and chair legs.

Harry wanted to curse. But at least he had a lead.

There were several charms that could locate someone practicing magic in the muggle realm. It would take some time to narrow it down to Draco, but Harry would do it.

( _12345_ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5 is up. Thank you for the comments and kudos. Much appreciated. I hope you enjoy this chapter.


	6. Chapter 6

**Draco**

When Draco was a child, he used to spend hours with a world atlas, studying all of the places he wanted to visit when he grew up, and making a long list. He'd been to some of them; France when he was 7, Africa when he was 10, and even California, the summer he turned 12 and stayed with his cousins for a month while his parents were on a trip.

Disneyland had been terrifying. Mice should never be that big.

Draco didn't feel right going back to the wizarding world right away, so he went back to that list, now wrinkled and faded, and picked a place at random.

Two weeks later, he was packed and on his way to Hawaii to try living the muggle way, with a little magical help.

Charlie insisted on accompanying him, citing his value as friend, companion, and pack mule, so Draco, laughing, agreed.

After listening to a muggle movie on one of his outings to Haxley, Draco had learned a few things about airplanes and insisted on having the window seat. When Charlie asked why, Draco just smiled, and listened to the drinks trolley rolling closer.

"Ow!"                                                                   

Laughing, Draco said, "Don't worry. When we get closer you can lean over me to see out the window."

This led to a bit of playful flirting. Charlie had been a friendly face almost from their first meeting at Grimmaud Place, but they became closer after Draco lost his vision, and the red-head always managed to improve Draco's mood. The blond knew that Charlie was interested, but Draco always made it clear that he wasn't ready for a relationship, indeed still considered himself 'involved' with the Harry, wherever he might be.

There was some awkwardness at first, but they got past it and now they were just very good friends who occasionally flirted with one another.

Though, Charlie had told Hermione about Draco's affection for country music.

Draco was still thinking of an appropriate punishment for that.

The two men had found a small apartment in Waikiki. The prices were outrageous according to Charlie, who had been planning a move to the Muggle world for some time. But to Draco, it was pocket change. Two bedrooms, fully furnished, washer, dryer, and air conditioning, it was his own tropical palace.

And it allowed pets.

Draco smiled at the warm brush of fur against his trouser leg. His service dog, Bogart, had been very well-behaved as they traveled, but it took three flights to get from England to Honolulu International Airport, and the last one was seven hours long. But even the most well-trained dog could get antsy; hell, Draco was a bit antsy himself.

The plane quieted down after a few hours, and a flight attendant offered Draco a chance to exercise Bogart in the aisles, so the blond man took it.

As the passengers were asleep for the most part, Draco managed to walk up and down the plane twice before he encountered any trouble.

They were getting close to the back of the plane when Draco felt the tension on the leash loosen before Bogart's behind hit his shins.

"Move your ruddy dog, boy."

Drawing himself up to his full height, Draco replied, "I'm terribly sorry, but there isn't enough space in the aisle. Please step back and we'll get turned around."

"Step back? I hardly think so," the man's voice was getting louder and Draco could hear the passengers around them shifting in their seats, "Move!"

A different flight attendant came up to them, Draco didn't recognize the man's voice, "Excuse me, gentlemen, please keep your voices down. The other passengers are trying to rest."

The man got louder still, "They're trying to rest? I'd be resting too if this troublemaker weren't WALKING HIS DOG on a flight. What kind of airline are you, letting people bring their pets on board?"

Draco felt his back stiffen. Bogart was practically wrapped around his legs now, fine tremors shaking the dog's thick body. Draco couldn't just turn and leave if he wanted to.

Around him, Draco heard the passengers whispering. Above them all was a screechy voice, "I say, you tell him, Vernon. Bringing that dirty animal on our clean flight."

While they were sitting, Bogart had been practically under Draco's chair, and they had boarded first to get situated, so it seemed few of the other passengers had noticed the dog until now.

The flight attendant began tugging on Draco's arms as the large man, Vernon, was shouting.

"Please sir, let's get you two back to your seat. Just follow me."

But Bogart was in the way, and Draco stumbled heavily onto the man sitting closest to them.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, feeling his face flame hot and bright.

"It's nothi-," the man's response was cut off by Vernon again.

"See! He's probably drunk. What sort of airline lets people bring their animals wherever they want? And he's drunk! They're menaces, put them off."

Draco had barely recovered his feet when a hand reached out and snatched his sunglasses away.

"And what sort of person wears glasses at night. Eh? I bet you're on drugs. Open your eyes, boy. Open your eyes, so we can see if you're on drugs."

Other passengers were shouting now. It seemed as though half of them agreed with the loud man and the other half just wanted him to shut up so they could sleep.

The flight attendant tried to reestablish order, but no one was really listening.

The hand returned, gripping Draco's shoulder and shaking him hard, in rhythm to what the loud man was saying, "Open your eyes, boy! Open your eyes!"

Shoving free, Draco moved away. He tripped over Bogart's lead and fell, then scrambled, crab-like away from that voice, that hand, as fast as he could. He could feel different hands, some gripping as tight as Vernon, others trying to help him up, get him untangled.

Finally, a clear and familiar voice broke through the noise, "He's blind, you bastard! That's his service dog you're manhandling."

Over the past months, Draco had always insisted that Charlie's singing was fit only to make frogs fall in love, but at that moment he had never heard a more beautiful sound than the red-headed man's voice.

In the shocked silence, Draco found his own voice, as Charlie reached down and helped him up, "Bogart? Bogart, are you all right?"

Draco heard the muffled bark, and called the dog again, "Bogart. Come here, love."

The dog walked over, and Draco knelt to greet her. The leash was wrapped around the dog's ankles, so Draco untangled her and petted her back, feeling the wagging tail shake the retriever's solid form. Luckily, Bogart was too well-trained to lick, except as a warning, or Draco knew he would be soaked.

After a few seconds of pampering the dog, Draco stood and faced the direction the man's voice had come from.

The bluster was somewhat missing, as the man said, "Blind, eh? Well, couldn't be expected to know that, could I? Still rude of you to block the aisle. Humph."

Draco knew it was the closest he would get to an apology, so he nodded and followed Charlie back to their seats.

Charlie guided Bogart back to his place on the floor, then Draco sat, feeling the dog's head rest on his knee.

"You know, I could hex him for you. If you like," Charlie offered.

Draco smiled slightly, "Thanks, but we're in the air. It probably wouldn't be safe." He sighed, then laughed once, "Maybe when we land. He can spend his vacation thinking he's a hula dancer."

Beside him, Charlie laughed hysterically for several minutes. When he calmed down, he said,

"You didn't see him, love. About the size of a walrus, with the moustache to match. Try wrapping that in a grass skirt and coconuts."

With that, the pair dissolved into giggles.

The laughter continued for a while longer. As soon as they stopped laughing, a muttered 'walrus' would start them off again.

Time passed and Draco felt a warm weight settle on his knee, then another on his shoulder. The soft rhythm of Bogart's snuffling breath against his leg lulled the blond to sleep, faintly noting that Charlie snored as well.

A few hours later a flight attendant woke them all so they could disembark. The steward, Kenneth, was very apologetic about what had happened, but Draco waved him off. The man was gracious and offered a few vouchers for a spa and restaurants as an apology. Draco accepted them, but politely turned down the veiled invitation to join Kenneth at one of those restaurants.

Afterwards, Charlie teased Draco for using his 'Slytherin wiles' on the 'poor, unsuspecting Muggle.'

Draco joked back, but he felt more uncomfortable than anything. They made their way to the baggage area, and Draco thought he could feel the pressure of eyes around him. This was his first real venture into the public sphere. After two and a half months blind, he still wasn't used to the way people reacted to him. As though he were a dog and a cane first, then a person.

Kenneth had offered to help with Draco's bags , but Charlie stepped in and said it wasn't necessary. The tall red head set his hand on Draco's waist as they turned away.

"Lovely. Now I'm not just blind. I'm blind and gay. Aren't I enough of a freak," Draco asked sarcastically as they waited for their things.

"Well, you were gay before you were blind. As for a freak, you can show me tonight, if you like."

Draco smiled, but firmly removed Charlie's hand from his hip. "We've talked about this, Charles. You're probably my best friend, and I can't just—"

"I know. And I understand, really. It's romantic. Tragic, but romantic, and that's always been the theme for you two," Charlie sighed, "If you ever give up?"

Draco smiled sadly, "I would never ask you to wait. You need to keep looking until you find someone who can love you back." Draco tightened his grip on Bogart's leash. "Besides, Weasley, we're in a beautiful tropical paradise. I'm sure you'll find some gorgeous young surfers to keep you busy."

The other man laughed, grabbed the bags, and led the way to the rental car stand, whistling something he swore was 'Tiny Bubbles,' though Draco had his doubts.

( _12345_ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been tagging the POV character at the beginning of the chapter. Is that necessary?
> 
> Also we have a bit of a The Wedding Singer Easter egg here and the Dursleys - charming as they are. And just an FYI that Draco and Charlie will not get together in this story so if it's a concern... no worries.


	7. Chapter 7

**Draco**

Standing on the small balcony, Draco wished for one minute he could look out at the sky. Charlie had described it every night since they arrived, but it wasn't the same as seeing it for himself.

According to the audible _tempus_ he had set on his watch, Draco knew it was 2:30 in the morning. There wouldn't be much to see, the blazing fire of sunset a few hours gone, soft colors of dawn a few hours away. Just a dark blue sky set with stars over the city lights, traffic streaking past like comets.

Normally he would be asleep at this hour, but nightmares had chased him from his bed again. Bogart still slept, perched on the blankets like a particularly heavy stuffed animal with a tendency to kick, and Charlie was away, for once, on Draco's insistence that he could take care of himself for a few nights and for Merlin's sake hadn't he been doing it for months at Hamilton.

So, when he woke up alone, fleeing shadowy hands and the accusing stare of his own grey eyes, he needed fresh air to clear the monsters away.

It had been two weeks since they arrived in their new home, plus the two and a half months he had spent at Hamilton, he had been blind for a quarter of a year. He'd been alone for a quarter of a year, too.

He still felt the urge to turn around and ask Harry how he was feeling, to tell him a joke, to reach for his hand, but it was becoming easier to let it go, and it didn't tear him apart anymore.

Maybe there was nothing left.

A strong gust of wind picked up the soft hair on his arms and chased Draco back inside. He wouldn't be able to sleep, but maybe if he put some music on he wouldn't have to think.

( _12345_ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7 is up with a nice little vignette.


	8. Chapter 8

**Harry**

It had been almost four months since Draco disappeared, and Harry was no closer to finding him than he had been that first day. He knew the blond was in the Muggle world, but that wasn't enough.

Harry idly played with the small charm he wore on a silver chain around his neck. Inside was a lock of Draco's hair. According to everything Harry read this would cool down when Draco cast a spell. It had taken two weeks to make, but if it helped him find the other boy, it was worth the time. Unfortunately, the charm just grew warmer under the constant pressure of his fingers.

Harry brought himself back to the present with a slight shake. He was at dinner with the Weasley's and though they would understand why he might be staring off into the distance, it was still rude.

Things were tense enough as it was. As a surprise to his parents, Charlie had popped in and spent the entire week-end with his family and staring at Harry with mixed sympathy and contempt.

When the second oldest Weasley had announced his decision to move to America a few weeks prior, Harry asked him if he really wanted to leave his profession.

Charlie had joked that there were dragons in America too.

After dinner, Charlie retired with his parents to the living room, and as part of long habit, Harry cleared the table, stacking the dishes in the kitchen for Mrs. Weasley to spell clean later.

Running a damp rag over the weathered wood grain to gather the last few scattered crumbs, he overheard snatches of conversation, but didn't really pay attention. He heard a muttered, "Draco—, "and perked up his ears, but then his mobile rang and he had to go outside to answer it, the magic in the Burrow turning an otherwise strong connection to static.

"Hey Harry," Dudley 's surprisingly gentle voice rumbled down the lines.

Before the war, Harry had the chance to resolve things with the Dursleys. They were the only blood family he had, and it seemed a waste to go into what could be his death without one last try.

Harry invited them to dinner at a mid-priced Muggle restaurant, and surprisingly they accepted. It was a strained meal, but they got through it cordially. His aunt Petunia may have given her family a bit of a hint of the seriousness of events because when the end of the meal came she gave Harry a small, stiff-armed hug, and her husband shook Harry's hand, once.

Dudley offered his hand, but when Harry took it, he was pulled into a one-armed, back-slapping hug and his cousin whispered, "We're family, Harry. Weird, but family. You'll be fine and we'll talk again."

It was strange, to say the least.

After that Harry was plunged into battle, locating and destroying the horcruxes and fighting Voldemort. He hadn't the time to remember Dudley 's offer, much less try to contact the boy.

After his recovery, and Draco's disappearance, Harry ran into Dudley in a shopping mall. For the first time in his life, Dudley noticed his cousin's condition and urged Harry to rest, to eat something and pull himself together before he collapsed.

Since then they had talked fairly regularly. And while Harry might never have a true bond with his aunt and uncle, he felt like he really had family now.

"Hey Dud."

"Have mum and dad called you yet?"

"No, why would they?"

"Thought they'd say thanks at least. Mum's a stickler, she might send a card."

"Don't worry about it. What's up? Did you have fun?"

"Once we got there. They're beautiful—"

"The girls," Harry smiled. Dudley had become a bit of a skirt-chaser.

"Those too. And the beaches. It was a disaster getting there, though."

Harry settled on the grass and leaned back against the fence, "Why?"

"Dad."

Harry sighed, "What happened?"

"Bloody hell, Harry. He got nervous and airsick on the first flight, so he thought a few drinks might help him relax. That was fine because he managed to sleep through the second leg, even though he was snoring so loud everyone else on the plane was awake. Then, on the third flight he assaulted someone. I thought we were going to get kicked off at thirty thousand feet."

Laughing, Harry said, "I can't believe Uncle Vernon attacked someone. He's always been a bit of a blowhard, no offense, but to hit someone?"

Dudley laughed, "Well, he didn't hit him, just shook him. And the entire time he's insisting the guy is drunk and demanding he open his eyes."

Harry laughed, hollowly, that last bit sounded too familiar.

Dudley went on, "And on top of that he was blind. My dad beat up a blind kid on a plane. We could have caused an international incident."

Dudley was laughing, Harry cut in, "Blind? What did he look like?"

"Sorry, Harry, I was asleep most of the time, didn't get too much detail. It straightened dad out though. He muttered the rest of the flight but he behaved himself. Listen, I have to go, but just wanted to let you know we had a great time. Hawaii was all I dreamed it would be. Even mum had a blast. Talk to you later, Harry."

Harry felt his mouth opening and closing silently. It was too much of a coincidence.

Draco would never go to Hawaii , though the image of him on a white beach was tempting. Harry wondered if the Slytherin boy would get tan, or stay delicately pale.

Would his silvery-grey eyes pick up the deep blue of the oce—

Harry shook himself firmly, driving the last threads of fantasy away.

Draco wasn't in Hawaii .

Snapping the little phone closed sharply, he tucked it away in his jeans pocket and went back inside, his free hand idly fiddling with the small charm around his neck.

( _12345_ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Always appreciate comments and reviews. Have a nice evening


	9. Chapter 9

**Draco**

" _I'm sorry. Mr. Mallow, but we're not hiring at this time_."

" _I'm sorry, we require more experience_."

" _Look, I hate to say it, but we can't have a blind kid selling jeans. How can you tell people what to buy if you can't see it? I'm sorry. Try next door_."

The worst parts were the apologies. If Draco wanted to hear people grovel that badly, he'd go back to Harry.

All he wanted was a job.

He didn't need the money, the Malfoy estates kept him quite comfortable. He just needed- He needed something to do. The joy of tourist life had faded fast, and now Draco knew why most vacations were only a week long; his other option, being a 'domestic goddess' as Charlie put it, had never held much appeal.

And while Draco was capable of doing a lot, even without the help of magic, finding a job didn't seem to be something he could manage.

"I just get sick of it, Charles." Draco winced at the whining note in his voice. "It sounds like they're not just sorry, they're sorry **for** me."

"Well, I'm not sure what to tell you. I've never tried working in the Muggle world, wouldn't know how to go about it." Draco heard Charlie take a deep breath, "Harry was at the house."

Shocked, Draco was silent.

"He came to dinner. I didn't tell him anything, just gave mum and dad an update. But he looked really upset."

Weakly, Draco replied, "Did he?"

"Yeah. He spent most of dinner staring into space, fiddling with this necklace he was wearing. 'S weird, you know?"

"What is?"

"His face with your eyes. Maybe you should contact him."

Draco shook his head, "No. He doesn't want to see me. He made that very clear. It's better like this, anyway, he can build a new life, and so can I."

Draco got up from his chair and made his way to the bathroom, trailing one hand against the wall.

Behind him, Charlie muttered something. Since Draco lost his eyes, his ears had become sharper, and he heard every word clear as a bell.

"If you want to build a new life, why haven't you?"

Closing the door firmly behind him, Draco flipped the lock and whispered to himself through gritted teeth, "I don't know how."

( _12345_ )

That night the dreams were fiercer than before. He had slept through the operation to remove his eyes, but in the dream he was aware, and Harry was standing over him, holding a knife. The pain was excruciating, but even worse was the look on Harry's face.

Firm hands shook him awake, "Draco! Wake up! It's just a dream."

Draco ran his hands roughly over his face. Cold trickles of fear sweat dotted his forehead and hairline. Grabbing up a corner of the sheet he dried it away, then stood up, batting Charlie's hands away when the man tried to help.

"What was it this time? The plane again?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Draco groused, his throat hoarse from fighting the screams.

"You should. This isn't healthy. You haven't had a proper sleep in ages, and thanks to your nightmares, neither have I."

"Then leave."

A pregnant silence filled the small bedroom. Draco walked over to the window and felt the sun against his face.

"What?"

"You heard me, Charles."

Charlie didn't reply, and Draco heard the soft hush of steps across the lushly carpeted floor, followed by the sound of a door closing.

Draco waited for a minute, but didn't hear another door, so Charlie was probably still in the apartment, just sulking somewhere, but he had to be sure.

The blond made his way to the door, and out into the apartment, "Charles? Charlie? Are you still here?"

Bogart whimpered softly in a dream, but there were no other sounds.

"Charlie?"

Draco walked down the hall to Charlie's room. The door was open, and he paused in the entryway, listening intently.

"Charlie?"

Draco heard nothing, even holding his breath so there would be no distractions, but there was no one there. The acrid scent of Floo powder drifted through the air

Charlie had gone and Draco was alone, again.

Completely.

( _12345_ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments.


	10. Chapter 10

**Draco**

Charlie had left a note.

A sodding note.

_Sorry, D. You need to be on your own to figure out what you want. If you need me, I'm just a Floo away, staying at the Burrow for a while. Your friend, Charles._

Draco wasn't surprised he managed to drive the red-head away. After all, he'd run off everyone else in his life. His mother, Severus, Harry. And now Charlie.

He buried a hand in Bogart's thick fur. "You're not going to leave me, are you, love?"

The dog replied with a sober bark and light nudge and the pair continued on their walk.

Draco didn't care much for the beach itself, but most of the beaches in Hawaii had grassy park areas nearby. From Charlie's descriptions, Draco knew that the park by the zoo had immense banyan trees arching over the grassy field, so Draco let Bogart lead him to an abandoned picnic table in the shade, then let the dog off her leash to chase the fat pigeons that covered the ground.

It was the fourth day in a row they'd been to the park, and four days since Charlie left. Draco knew himself better than to blame it on coincidence.

He didn't want to be alone in the apartment, and several times over the past few days had found himself on the verge of calling Charlie, or even Harry.

But something held him back. He assumed it was pride. It could just as easily have been embarrassment. After all, he was on the verge of giving up. After his grand declaration that he could live on his own, he had resorted to waiting around for something, for Charlie or Harry to come and rescue him from himself, instead of making the new life he said he would.

Even now, he had given up the job hunt and spent most of his time wandering around and avoiding his apartment.

A shrill ring pulled him out of his thoughts, and he felt his phone vibrating against his stomach. Pulling the tiny thing from his jacket pocket, he flipped it open, "Hello?"

"Mr. Mallow?"

"Yes, who is this?"

"My name is Deacon Winters. I run a local children's hospice called Hale Kokua. I'm in need of some help so I called my uncle, Director Edwards of Hamilton House, for suggestions and he gave me your portable number and told me that you are in the islands, is this true?"

Draco shifted, leaning more against the table, "Yes. Why?"

"I need someone who became blind later in life to help with my more difficult children. Director Edwards said you were good with children, and that you could help them understand what they were going through. I was wondering if you would like to come in and work with some of our patients. Most of them are blind, but others have different disabilities.

Unfortunately, we don't have a huge budget and we're very short on staff, much less staff that can understand how the children feel. If you could come in even twice a week and spend time with them, we would appreciate it."

Draco considered for a moment, "Give me your number and I'll call you back."

Draco added the number in his phone's memory and hung up.

Hamilton House had been designed mainly for adults, but there were some children there as well. As Draco was one of the younger patients, he spent some time with the children and in that time became very fond of them. They were in the same position as he was, but they were more frightened; yet at the same time, more accepting.

He called Deacon Winters back and said, "I'll do it," and he was smiling.

( _12345_ )

His first day on the job was a Tuesday. Draco had plenty of practice getting around town on the bus, and the drivers were very courteous and more than willing to help.

He got to the hospice at eight AM on the nose, and let Bogart lead him up a short flight of stone steps to the front door.

The door opened at a light touch, and inside the unpleasantly medicinal smell almost sent him back out on the street, but behind that was a whiff of cinnamon, and he could hear children not too far away, so he gritted his teeth, tightened his grip on his cane and moved forwards, hoping to come upon a front desk or office.

"Mr. Mallow? I'm Deacon Winters."

Draco recognized the voice from the phone; it was more resonant than it sounded through the weak and tinny reception.

"Pleased to meet you sir," Draco reached a hand out in the direction of the voice.

After a small pause, he felt it grasped in a firm hold and shaken, once, then again, before being released.

"Please don't call me sir, Mr. Mallow. We're to be co-workers. You can call me Deacon."

"Deacon? That's your first name?"

The man nodded, Draco could tell from the sound of movement, something soft, his hair probably, brushing against the fabric of his shirt. "I'm sorry. I forgot, in England Deacon is a title. Yes, that's my first name. My mother wanted something dignified, I guess."

Deacon had a gentle laugh, Draco smiled reflexively. The man seemed trustworthy, but Draco kept to the name he had chosen so many months before, "All right, then you must call me David."

Draco felt Deacon take his elbow and together the two men walked towards the children Draco had heard earlier.

"So," Draco cleared his throat, "What am I expected to do here?"

"Well, basically we just want you to spend time with the children. Show them that they can live with their disability and give them an adult they can confide in, since you've been through the same thing."

As they got closer, the noise got louder. Most of it was 'happy children noise' laughter and talking, but under that was a thin current of fear, of sorrow. Draco reminded himself that these children were in the position he had been in not too many months before.

This was not going to be easy.

A thick door was all that stood between Draco and the children he would be helping.

He took a deep breath and let Deacon lead him in.

"Children, this is David. He'll be working with you a few days a week starting on Tuesday. Today why don't you take some time to get to know each other?"

Deacon introduced Draco and Bogart to the children briefly.

"So, what do we say?"

Tiny voices shouted, "Hello, David."

From the back of the room Draco heard quiet whispering, but he didn't try to figure it out. Knowing children, they would ask their questions soon enough.

"Can I pet your dog?"

"Is that your real hair?"

"Are you a girl?"

Draco answered those questions and more, one shouted on top of another. He kept a serene tone in his voice and a smile on his face, though he very badly wanted to pinch the little boy that questioned his gender. He knew he was pretty, but still.

"Why are you wearing dark glasses inside? That's stupid."

Deacon's voice sounded beside him, "Harry, I'll thank you not to be rude. Children, David is blind, like Sarah and Timothy. He will be working with them to improve their skills, but he will spend plenty of time with all of you. Now, David and I have to speak privately, but as I said he will be back on Tuesday.

As they walked away, the sound from the play room returned to its joyous noise, and Deacon led Draco to a small office. Accepting the offer of a bottle of water, Draco sat in the chair he had been directed to and the men took a moment to relax.

Draco's thoughts were caught up in a whirl. Hearing the name Harry again had thrown him for a loop. He tried to clear his mind, Harry and their life together was behind him, he was building a new life now.

"So, Mr. Mallow, what do you think of our kids?"

"They sound like children, I'm sure we'll rub along fine. I can come three days a week for a few hours, and if necessary I can stay some nights. I know how difficult it can be to get acclimated, especially at night."

Draco felt the warm, dry hand press his gently. After a moment of silence, he heard the other man take a heavy breath.

"Thank you, Mr. Mallow, and we'll see you Tuesday."

Draco let Bogart guide him to the door and he stepped out into the warm afternoon smiling.

(12345)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is chapter 10. Sorry for the delay in posting - i had a nasty migraine hit me square between the eyes last night. Also - Draco has a flip phone. It's because that's what I had when I was writing this (and in fact still have as i am slow with the technologies.) I wonder if smart phones have modifications for the visually impaired? They must right? Hmmm...should look that up.


	11. Chapter 11

**Harry**

_The boy sat alone in a black room, staring down at his hands. A soft voice whispered out into the darkness._

" _Someday we'll have a home of our own. A farm in the country with lots of animals. But only cute and non-smelly animals, if possible. And maybe some children. I like children."_

_As the voice trailed off, the darkness seemed to grow thicker._

" _Someday we'll live in the city, in a penthouse apartment so far above the world everyone will look like ants and we'll be able to reach out of our windows and touch the clouds, catch the stars. We'll have a cat. No, two cats, so they won't be lonely when we've gone dancing all night."_

_The boy was nothing more than a pale figure as it grew darker still._

" _You don't have to say it again. I know you love me, just like you know I love you. I know lots of things. I know you love me, and I know we'll be together forever, and I know we'll be each other's family for the rest of our lives."_

_The boy wasn't visible anymore, but a tiny spark of light could still be seen in the heavy blackness._

" _Harry?"_

" _Harry?"_

"Harry!"

The weather slipped into an early winter, and the charm was cool, but not cold. Harry didn't know what that meant, if it meant anything at all. Early morning sunlight glared off of the snow outside and onto the tracer globe he had set on the windowsill, obscuring any indicator that might be visible.

Watching a grey breath huff away, Harry resettled his jaw in his hand and stared out at the snow.

Six months gone.

Six months without Draco.

Grimmaud Place was more crowded, Hermione and Ron still bumping around the place and Charlie had moved in as well. He'd stormed home to the Burrow a few weeks previous.

Harry thought he'd never seen anyone that close to furious tears, but the red head refused to say what had happened.

Hermione seemed to know and looked at Charlie with sympathetic eyes. Ron said it was probably just some bird broke his heart and his brother would get over it soon enough.

After a few days of fighting with his parents, Charlie moved into Grimmaud Place , and though he looked peaceful enough, the air around him was still full of electricity.

Harry and Charlie spent most of their days in neutral orbit. They shared the same space without interacting, though more than once Harry thought Charlie was on the verge of saying something, but the other man never did.

Suddenly, the charm Harry had been holding in a loose grip, an action that had become habit over the past months, sent a painful chill through Harry's fingers. Draco was somewhere using magic and Harry was going to find him.

Shaking his hand, his fingers gone numb from the cold; he used the other to guide the tracking orb out of its place on the windowsill and into some shade so the signs would be easier to read.

A grey shadow drifted over the tracer orb Harry had arranged. A lock of Draco's hair was inside, and the shadow moved restlessly, growing and shrinking, finally settling over a small spot in the middle of the Pacific Ocean .

He was there.

( _12345_ )


	12. Chapter 12

**Draco**

One month into Draco's tenure at Hale Kokua he'd been kicked, tripped, doused with paint, and thrown up on. All but the vomit he counted as intentional. When taking care of children he'd learned that being thrown up on wasn't so much intention as inevitability.

Being doused with paint didn't bother him too much either. Few people knew that even before he lost his sight, Draco was clumsy. At an early age he learned stain removal and prevention charms to prevent the worst of the catastrophes he had gotten himself into, and when he lost his sight, he'd broadened the charm to cover every article of fabric in his apartment, from clothes to carpets to each piece of upholstery.

The other incidents, however, were disturbing and dangerous, and most of them stemmed from the two rude boys he'd met on his first visit. Peter, the one who though he looked like a girl, and Harry.

Draco had expected some pranks suited to substitute teachers, or unwanted baby sitters, but tripping a blind man in the midst of a crowded playroom was a malicious act. Having turned over a new leaf, Draco didn't want to run to Deacon and tattle, but the boys meant to cause harm and even though Draco had charms he'd used to protect himself from most physical accidents, he knew there were other patients, other children, who didn't have his magical advantage.

As it was, only a quick wandless spell saved him from disaster, making it look like he only stumbled slightly and it took him a solid day to decide Deacon had to be informed.

He knocked softly on Deacon's door, then harder when he received no response. He heard papers rustling around inside, so he knew the man was in.

"Deacon? I know you're there. I'm coming in, so you'd better be decent or who knows what I'll see." Smiling, Draco pushed open the door. "Deacon? I wanted to talk to you about Harry."

Draco heard a gasp from the man and stepped into the small office, closing the door behind him.

"I know he's a child, but I think this time he's gone too far. Someone could have been hurt."

Draco heard Deacon clear his throat roughly, then nothing.

"Deacon, do you have your bloody headphones on again?" Draco had grown very tired very quickly of his boss's habit of listening to rock music in the office. He never knew if the man could hear him or not and once spent fifteen minutes talking to an empty desk.

Draco walked slowly towards the desk, one hand out. Deacon was tall, so seated his head came up to Draco's chest. Draco held his hand out, expecting his fingers to encounter the slick plastic of the headphones, but instead he felt warm, soft hair against his fingertips.

Draco felt the warmth of a blush on his face, "I- I'm sorry, Deacon. I though you had your 'phones on. I didn't mean to—"

Draco was cut off as his hand was taken in a firm grip and his knuckles were lightly kissed. The gesture seemed familiar, but he was too shocked to remember where he had felt it before. He snatched his hand away and backed up a few steps, until he felt the doorknob press against his spine.

"Deacon, I'm not sure what you think is going on, but I'm not interested. That is to say- You're very nice, and I'm sure you're quite handsome, but I don't want a relatio—"

The warm lips pressed against his own stunned him into silence. It had been six months since his last kiss, and all he wanted to do was run away and cry. This wasn't supposed to happen.

Harry was the only one who could kiss him, hold him.

Draco could feel his heart beat faster, and Deacon seemed to be encouraged as warm hands settled on his hips and slid around his waist. Biting down hard on the thick bottom lip, Draco broke free.

"Let me go! Dammit, Deacon, let me go!"

Behind him Draco heard someone pounding on the door so, dropping his cane on the floor, he shoved Deacon away as far as he could. Thrown off balance, Draco fell as well; knocking his head against the corner of the heavy desk. The last thing he heard as he blacked out was a sharp CRACK.

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	13. Chapter 13

**Draco**

Draco woke to the usual disorientation. It had been half a year since he went blind and every morning for a split second he expected to open his eyes and be relieved of the unending blackness.

But he couldn't open his eyes, and even if he could it would do no good.

A wet cloth slid down his forehead and nose, settling on his lips. The fuzzy texture felt like terry cloth, and underneath him he felt a dense surface. Moving his fingers over it, he felt leather. He shifted upwards, and the pressure against his shoulders and side meant he was lying on a couch, a leather couch somewhere that smelled like medicine and cinnamon. He pulled the cloth off of his mouth, absently enjoying the moist sensation as he heard a door open.

"You're awake?"

It was Deacon's voice, and in a rush everything came back to Draco. He stretched out for his cane, but it was nowhere within reach.

"David? David, are you alright?"

Draco could feel the warmth of the man coming towards him and he waved him away.

"Stop it. Leave me alone! Don't touch me!"

"Okay, okay, calm down," Deacon's voice moved further away.

"How am I supposed to calm down? You attacked me." Draco could feel the panic rising, the way it had on the plane, but this time Charlie wasn't there to rescue him.

Deacon sat down, Draco could feel the couch shift with the added weight. "What are you talking about?"

Draco snorted, "Don't give me that innocent routine. I came into your office to talk to you about the boys and you grabbed me, kissed me."

"I can't say the idea hasn't crossed my mind, but I wouldn't act on it, we're co-workers."

Draco could hear the smile in Deacon's voice and gritted his teeth.

"Shut up! Don't laugh. You were here. I thought you had your headphones on, I reached out and you-," Draco rubbed his hand where it had been kissed. He could feel his hands shaking and the room seemed much colder than it had the right to be.

Deacon, sounding more serious, said, "I'm sorry, David. I was in the examining room with one of the girls. I heard banging on my door, and when I came something was blocking it so I couldn't get in. I heard you shouting, and the door opened. You were on the floor. You took a solid knock, by the way, but you have a hard head so you should be fine."

Draco heard Deacon take a deep breath, "I wasn't kidding when I said I've thought about kissing you, but I would never get involved with a co-worker and I would never use force. I'd like to think I'm handsome and charming enough not to need it."

Draco heard the sincerity and humor in Deacon's voice and accepted his words as the truth, allowing himself a weak laugh at the joke.

"You look better now. Your color's better, I was worried."

Draco heard the relief in the other man's voice and rubbed lightly at his head, "How long was I out?"

"Only a few minutes. I had Dr. James check on you and he said you were alright, just stunned. It's along the lines of a miracle, actually, considering how hard you must have fallen."

Draco knew he hit the desk as he fell and thanked all Merlin that the anti-collision charms kicked in or he might still be on the floor in a pool of his own brains.

Draco thought for a moment, calming down, "So, if it wasn't you. Did you see anyone in the room when you came in?"

"Only you, no one ran out. And the windows are intact."

Draco could hear a thread of doubt in his boss's voice, "There was someone here, Deacon. I couldn't do this to myself—"

"I know. I'm sorry if it sounded like I—"

Draco felt a rush of fear travel up his spine, "Deacon? Why did you hire me? I don't have any professional experience or training, and I'm sure there are hundreds of other people much more qualified than me."

There was a heavy pause. "Because you can understand the way they feel better than a professiona—"

"The real reason."

Another pause and then, "My uncle told me you were rich. Everything else I told you is true, he said you were good with children, and you are. They love you and you've really helped them. But I knew if you were financially solid you wouldn't mind working the hours I need for free. And there might be a possibility of a donation in the future."

Deacon's voice was pragmatic, though the words were rushed. Draco actually understood and respected his intentions; it was a very Slytherin plan.

Deacon went on, but Draco waved the other man into silence, his head hurt and he didn't want to hear anymore. Gingerly, he stood and, trailing one hand along the wall so he could find the door, walked out.

He took a moment to get his bearings, trying to orient himself in the hall. He felt warmer on his left side, where the sunlight came streaming in the big picture windows, and according to his watch it was late afternoon, so the front door was approximately sixteen steps ahead.

His head was throbbing, but he called out anyway, "Bogart? Come here, Bogart."

Draco left the dog in the playroom when he went to visit Deacon, so it only took a few seconds for Bogart to find him.

"Come on, love, we're going home," Draco muttered, kneeling down to buckle the harness around the dog's thick midsection. He felt eyes on him, as though someone was watching. Assuming it was Deacon, he said, "Tell the kids I'm sorry but I had to go. I'll come back for my things later."

Wrapping his dignity around him like the robes he no longer wore, Draco stood, letting Bogart guide him along the familiar route.

The nightmares would be terrible tonight.

The phone rang late, after midnight . Draco held it a good distance from his head.

The only person he was expecting to hear from was Charlie and no matter how much time they spent in the muggle world, the Weasley had never gotten used to phones, still shouting down the line.

So it was a surprise when Draco had to press the phone close to his head, closer, to hear the muttered, "Sorry."

"I'm sorry, what? You'll have to speak up, Deacon."

"This is difficult. I don't apologize often. I think it's because I'm so rarely wrong, but you were right David and you're in trouble."

Draco collapsed into the recliner and shakily replied, "I'm in trouble?"

"Yes. My papers were disturbed and it looked like someone was going through employee files. Yours was on top of the stack."

Draco felt dizzy. After he got home, he had been in the shower for an hour, until the hot water ran out, trying to wash the memory of hands off of his skin. Afterwards he spent the rest of the evening fighting nightmares before he finally gave up.

Now he was hearing that one of his terrors was coming true.

"Do you know who it was? Did you call the police?"

Deacon's tinny voice came through the line, "I called the police, but they say there's no sign of forced entry, and your testimony can't help very much."

"Because I'm blind," not a question.

"Yes. They wanted to know if there was anyone you knew who might be looking for you?"

Draco laughed bitterly. "No one is looking for me, Deacon. I'd know."

"David? Are you alright? You don't sound good."

"I'm fine. Is it—is it alright if I take a few days off?"

"Sure. We'll keep an eye out. And I've spoken to Peter and Harry, one of the other children told me what happened, so don't worry about them. Just rest, and come back when you're ready, if you want to. And… be careful."

The phone clicked off and Draco set it on the table.

He'd laugh, if he wasn't crying. He swabbed at his face with the sleeve of his robe. The tears would ruin the silk, but he couldn't see it anyway, so what did it matter?

Someone was looking for him and a stupid, distant part of him wanted it to be Harry.

But Draco knew there was a better chance of it being Santa Claus than his Gryffindor boyfri—ex boyfriend.

Hauling his wand out of its box under the couch, he tightened the wards around the apartment and curled up with Bogart on the floor in front of the speakers.

Country music didn't make everything better, but it was a start.

Patsy Cline couldn't tell him what to do, but at least she could sympathize.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a POV shift and we're traveling back in time a tiny bit

**Harry**

At first, Harry thought the tracker was broken; unless Draco had fallen out of a ship and drowned there was no way he was in the middle of an ocean. But as the trail got more clearly defined; Harry couldn't stop a grin from spreading across his face.

Draco was in Hawaii.

Months ago, Dudley had told Harry a story about Uncle Vernon harassing a blind boy on a plane. Harry had dismissed it as too coincidental, but apparently he should have paid more attention to his cousin.

Now, as he streaked over the blue expanse on a charmed carpet he borrowed from the Weasley's, he blessed his cousin, his uncle, and any deity that was listening.

He was going to find Draco, and bring him home.

The trail warmed up as he landed on a deserted stretch of beach. Shrinking the carpet, he tucked it into his pocket and followed the tracking charm, transfigured into a compass for convenience.

He followed its erratic trail across Waikiki beach and through various touristy areas. Eventually, he found himself in front of a small school. A sign over the door said it was 'Hale Kokua.' Harry didn't know what that meant, but he could hear children and thought the compass might have led him wrong.

Deciding discretion was the better part of valor; he wrapped himself in the invisibility cloak, no easy trick in the thick humidity, and made his way inside.

The interior was tidy, if a bit shabby. A lobby full of wicker furniture with faded cushions, and well-tended tropical plants. A low coffee table was covered with issues of Highlights for Children and Better Homes and Gardens.

An abandoned reception desk stood guard in front of a sturdy wooden door, but the door itself was propped open by a rubber tub half full, Harry saw as he walked further in, with building blocks and toy trucks.

A long hallway lined with doors led to a playroom walled in large picture windows. The light coming in was almost blinding, but not as much as the man Harry saw sitting in the corner.

He hadn't changed.

Somehow, Harry expected their time apart to change the blond Slytherin, but Draco looked the same as he ever did. The sun hadn't tinted his fair skin, and his hair still had the silvery glow Harry loved.

Dressed simply in blue jeans and a green shirt, Draco was the most beautiful thing Harry had ever seen. In the months Harry had been hunting he'd imagined finding Draco a hundred thousand times. But now he had no idea what to do. The last time they were together, they fought, and Draco had made a huge sacrifice for him.

Would the blond man be willing to take Harry back? Or push him away? Maybe he had already found someone new and Harry had no place in his life anymore.

Panicking, Harry mentally ran through speech after speech, something that would open Draco's heart to him again, let him know how hard Harry had worked to find him, without making Harry look like an insane stalker.

Something brushed his leg, pulling him away from his thoughts. His attention diverted, he finally noticed that the room was full of children. Children were in every corner and light music played through the room while a large dog romped in the sunbeams that streamed in. Turning back to Draco, Harry noticed for the first time a small child at his side, and both were tracing their fingers down an oversized page, Draco's pink lips moving slowly, mouthing the words, reading the story aloud.

Harry felt trapped. He couldn't go out and talk to Draco, but he didn't want to leave or he might never find him again. He would have to find out more about Draco's life before he could find his way back into it again.

Turning away from the idyllic sight, he walked back up the hall, looking for any clues that might help him get closer to the Slytherin blond.

One door, halfway down the hall held a dull brass nameplate, 'Deacon Winter.' Harry felt a small smile twist his lips. Draco Malfoy was too noticeable a name, but it looked as though he hadn't chosen one any easier to hide.

Harry gently turned to door knob, in case anyone was inside, but the room was empty. Stepping inside he closed the door firmly behind him. Taking a quick look around him he knew at once that this office didn't belong to Draco. The Slytherin boy was clumsy. Harry knew that no matter how hard Draco had tried to hide it from him, and as a consequence knew how he kept everything immaculate to limit the number of items he could trip on or knock over. This office was a mess. Garbage and detritus covered the floor, and the desk was littered with papers and folders.

For the sake of curiosity and in case there was anything of value to be learned, Harry brushed two jackets and an empty coffee cup off of the chair and onto the floor and settled in. The files at first glance seemed to belong to employees of Hale Kokua, which looked like a hospice for disabled children. Halfway down the stack, Harry found his treasure; a file with the name 'David Mallow' on it and the blonds' picture inside, complete with home address and employee performance evaluation.

It looked like Draco had come to work at the hospice a month previous. So far his record looked good. And it looked as though he had doctored his past pretty well, though Harry would never have thought of Draco as an Eton graduate.

The personal notes were interesting as well, ' _surprisingly good with children; efficient and courteous; slightly arrogant, possibly to cover some insecurity; sad_.'

It was the last one that got to Harry. It was his fault, after all. He sat lost in thought until there was a knock at the door.

The invisibility cloak had slipped off slightly, as he tried to get it untangled from the arching back of the desk chair, the door opened.

"Deacon? I wanted to talk to you about Harry."

It was Draco, and the cloak fell out of Harry's nerveless fingers, silvery fabric pooling on the floor.

It was Draco and as the blond said his name, Harry choked on a gasp and watched the blond reach out towards him.

"I know he's a child, but this time he's gone too far."

Harry coughed lightly, relieved. Draco didn't know he was there, wasn't talking to him.

"Deacon? Do you have your bloody headphones on again?"

Draco took a few steps towards the desk. Harry looked around for somewhere to hide, but the office was tiny and cramped with a desk, a couch, and a filing cabinet fighting for floor space with piles of detritus. Any move he made would tell Draco someone was there, and Harry strongly doubted he could do a decent impersonation of this 'Deacon' person on such short notice.

He felt a warm hand settle on his head, and froze. Draco was touching him. For the first time in half a year he felt those familiar fingers in his hair.

But as quickly as they settled, they were pulled back and Harry saw a light pink blush rise over Draco's pale features.

"I- I'm sorry, Deacon. I though you had your 'phones on. I didn't mean to—"

The hand moved away, and Harry couldn't help himself, couldn't let Draco get away, he reached out for the slender digits and kissed them gently.

The hand was snatched out of his grasp and Harry saw lines of strain settle in the now marble-white face as Draco moved backwards to the door.

"Deacon, I'm not sure what you think is going on, but I'm not interested. That is to say- You're very nice, and I'm sure you're quite handsome, but I don't want a relatio—"

Harry knew he should leave him alone, let him go now, but something in him wouldn't watch Draco run away again. He rushed to his feet and before even he knew what he would do, pinned the Slytherin against the door, pressing his lips against the other man's in a pleading kiss.

He ran his hands over the blonde's frozen form. Draco was thinner; his heartbeat as fast as a rabbit's. There were so many nights he felt that heart pulse under his hands, but this time it wasn't passion, it was fear.

Not just fear, but panic.

Harry felt Draco bite his lip fiercely and broke off the kiss as the other man got his hands free and, pressing them against Harry's chest, pushed him away, gasping,

"Let me go! Dammit, Deacon, let me go!"

Shocked, Harry let the push move him, and fell back a few steps. Draco went off-balance and fell with him at the same time the door opened.

Harry apparated away without looking back. He had to pull himself together and find a new way to approach Draco.

The next time they kissed he wanted Draco to know it was him; the sensation of the man he loved trembling from fear in his arms would haunt him in his dreams for years to come.

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	15. Chapter 15

**Harry**

Harry arrived back at the beach where he had landed only a few hours previous.

Shaking with reaction he collapsed to his knees and retched. Dry heaves shook his form, he wasn't sure how he would react to carpet travel so he hadn't eaten before he left, but he regretted that decision now, as it hurt less to vomit when there was actually something in his system.

Spitting pink-tinted froth onto the sand, he collapsed backwards, wordlessly waving at the mess and trusting it would disappear.

Still shivering, he closed his eyes and tried to focus. He knew where Draco was, he had seen him, he had… Harry had attacked him.

Pictures of Draco as he had last seen him flickered against the blackness of his eyelids. That beautiful face, glowing in the sunlight, smiling softly, then frozen in fear, fear Harry caused. He was so close, he could have said something, could have explained, and instead he did the first thing that came to mind.

And it was a mistake. Draco was afraid now; a stranger had assaulted him in his work and left him, possibly hurt, on the floor.

What Harry wouldn't give for a Time Turner. He had been told that his impulsive nature would cause him trouble, but things always worked out, until now.

Now he would have to resort to some Slytherin tactics.

He sighed and opened his eyes, studying the vivid blue of the sky overhead.

He knew Draco's address. That would have to be his first stop.

( _12345_ )

**Draco**

Draco woke up with a stiff back and a splitting head-ache. According to his audible watch it was half ten in the morning. He was still on the floor, Patsy Cline moaning about 'weeping willows' and 'walking after midnight .' Bogart had moved away at some point in the night, but Draco heard the quiet crunching of dry kibble a few feet away. More than once over the past few months, the dog had dragged her food bowl into his bedroom so she could keep an eye on him.

Stretching carefully, he rose. A muffled beeping from the other room told him he had some phone messages, but he didn't feel like checking. He knew he didn't want to talk to anyone.

But there were still things to do.

Draco settled at the small kitchen table Charlie picked out. According to the red head it was a lovely mahogany piece, a well-maintained antique; but Draco could feel the pits and gouges of hard use in the smooth surface. Still, he ignored the 'exaggeration' and grew to love the table. Sitting down at it now, he followed the trail of familiar scratches to the notepad and pen he kept in the center next to the napkin holder and a small jug of flowers.

He briskly rubbed the pen against the silk of his robe, in case any dust had settled on the plastic surface overnight, and then laid it on top of the blank paper. A special charm would allow the pen to move in concert with his thoughts, making clear and legible notes.

In the weeks since Charlie left, the apartment was too quiet, and Draco had taken to narrating his actions and thinking out loud, just to fill the silence.

"Someone is looking for me. Could be Death Eaters, could be Harry. Almost not sure which one I'd prefer right now.

Harry said he didn't want to see me again, but that was six months ago and he could have changed his mind. Whoever was in the office kissed me."

Draco pressed his fingers to his lips. The kiss had be hard, forceful—

It wasn't a 'Harry' kiss.

"If it had been Harry he would have said something. I mean, I was scared, and Harry would have told me who he was, held me, not—not pushed me into a wall.

But Harry doesn't want to see me anymore, he said so. So it had to be someone else. I just don't know who."

Draco's voice trailed off and he buried his face in his hands, head spinning with possibilities both wonderful and horrible.

Even though Draco stopped talking, the pen continued to trace his thoughts on the page. Most of them concerned Harry, and the way he must have looked when he was ordering Draco out of his sight.

A knock came at the door, and Draco stopped the pen, tucking it into the pocket of his robe. Wrapping the dark fabric tighter around himself, he walked over, standing roughly in front of the peephole out of reflex.

"Who is it?"

"Someone who thought it might be more polite to use the door for a change."

It was a familiar voice, but Draco was too rattled to put a name to it.

"I brought presents. Come on, Draco, open the door. My arms are about to fall off."

Draco knew who it was now, but he couldn't resist the urge to torture the whining Gryffindor, so he waited a few more minutes.

Until he realized the Gryffindor could torture him right back, and a low off-key crooning started to seep in through the cracks around the door.

As fast as he could, Draco undid the wards and unlocked every latch.

"Merlin Charles, get in here before the whole building goes deaf."

"Oh, you know you love it."

The warm scent of Charlie's cologne paired with something sweeter moved past him and into the apartment.

Draco heard the rustle of plastic bags, and smiled as the dense warm smell of fresh bread filled the room.

"My mum's been baking, bread and some of those little fancy cookies you like. I took as much as I could carry, figured you probably weren't eating properly without me to push you, and by the looks of things," Draco felt the redhead's gaze rake his form, "I was right. Merlin, Draco, you look terrible, have you been sleeping at all?"

Draco felt a weak smile cross his face, "Just a little, here and there, to keep in practice."

Somehow the Weasley family always gave off an air of comfort, and Draco felt that surround him as Charlie rushed over and took him up in the best hug he'd had since the last time he'd seen Molly. Worn out from his hours of worry, and the fitful nap on the living room floor, Draco let himself collapse into that embrace, and to his shame and dismay, found himself crying again.

Charlie's warm hand settled on his back, and over the sound of his hoarse sobs Draco could hear Charlie softly mumbling.

"It's okay, Draco. It's okay. You'll be okay."

After a few minutes, Draco started to calm down. His face was warm from crying, and from the massive blush he knew he had sprouted. He swiped at his cheeks with the sleeve of his robe and stepped back, Charlie releasing him instantly.

"What happened, Draco?"

Charlie's voice was calm, but Draco didn't want to answer.

"Nothing. I was just stressed out, you know. Not used to being on my own."

"I don't buy it," Charlie was implacable; "You're too strong for a few weeks on your own to bring you so down. What happened?"

Draco made his way back to the kitchen chair he had been sitting in and settled down. Taking a deep breath, he began to explain; the job, the kids, the attack.

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	16. Chapter 16

** Harry   
**

Harry reconsidered his idea to storm into Draco's apartment and confront him with what had happened in favor of good sense and retreated to Grimmaud Place . He knew where Draco was, so that was a point in his favor, but he had bollixed up their first meeting and he wanted to properly plan for the next time he saw the Slytherin blond.

Hours passed as he made and discarded plan after plan. He couldn't just drop in on Draco or he would run the risk of having a door slammed in his face. A phone call or letter would beg the question of how he had found the other man, and he really didn't want to explain that. If he said he had magical help, Draco would expect to know the spells and Harry would have to admit to finding him and to—to attacking him.

A day after the first sighting, Harry was still holed up in his study, head in hands, trying to figure out what to do next.

Suddenly Hermione was at the door, "Harry, we tried to stop him—"

She was cut off by a red-headed blur that threw itself across the room, grabbed Harry by the shirt collar, and slammed him against the wall. Harry's head snapped against the wall sharply, and his vision swam, but as his eyes cleared he could see that his attacker was Charlie Weasley.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Harry?"

His voice was pleading, but there was a raging fire in his eyes, and his grip didn't loosen at all.

Harry could feel the blood rushing to his head, "What are you talking about? I didn't do anything!"

Charlie shook him fiercely, "Nothing? So you don't remember stalking Draco and assaulting him in his boss's office?"

Shocked, Harry could only stare, his mouth open. _How had Charlie known?_

Without another word, Charlie released Harry, letting him collapse to the floor.

Harry watched the red head run a shaking hand over his face. "He knows it's you. Or at least, he thinks it's you. And he doesn't understand."

Finally looking at Harry again, Charlie went on, "Couldn't you have said something? He was scared to death, is still scared to death."

Harry finally found his voice, "I'm sorry. I was surprised, I didn't know what to do and he was there and so…"

Charlie nodded, but said nothing.

Harry went on, "Is he really that upset?"

At this point Hermione broke in, "Of course he's upset Harry. He's blind and now either some lunatic just attacked him, or the ex-boyfriend he ran away from is stalking him." Seeming shocked by her own words she stopped, staring downwards. Almost to herself she went on, "This is like something out of a made for telly movie."

Harry glared at her and saw Charlie roll his eyes. Then the tall red head offered his hand to help Harry get up again. The two men walked over to the desk and sat on opposite sides of the mammoth and map strewn surface.

Groaning through his scratchy throat, Harry buried his face in his hands, "What do I do?"

He heard Charlie and Hermione reply in harmony, "You should have thought about that before you went," and looked up.

Hermione went on, coming further into the room and taking a seat by the fire, "Now Charlie, what exactly did Harry do? He went out yesterday and came back in a panic. He's been holed up in here ever since. I know it's about Draco because everything is lately, but I need to know the whole story before I can help."

Harry sank down in his chair and stared at the ceiling as Charlie recited his list of crimes; stalking, breaking and entering, assault, sexual assault, and just generally being a completely ungrateful git.

"Oh Harry. You have totally bollixed this up."

Harry laughed, but it sounded like a sob even to his ears. "I know. I don't know what to do next."

Quietly, Charlie said, "Do you still want him? Draco, I mean. Do you love him?"

"Merlin yes."

With a heavy sigh, Charlie said, "Okay, then you have to get him back. And we'll help."

"How did you two get together in the first place," Hermione asked, "That would be a good place to start."

"Dunno really. We were stuck here. I thought he was a complete git. I fell in love with him, he kissed me, and there we are."

Hermione and Charlie shared a look. Pulling out a note book and pen, she settled in to take notes, "Now then, where was your first date?"

Harry rolled his eyes at her, "Hermione, we were at war."

Charlie snorted.

"What," Harry asked.

"So, no candlelit dinners? No flowers? No courting of any kind? Just, 'Hey Draco, remember how I tried to kill you that time? Well now I love you.' And then you kissed."

Harry smiled, "I don't know. It just sort of worked for us."

"Merlin, no wonder I never got anywhere," Charlie replied, a sad smile on his face, "He must have really loved you to go for that."

Harry and Hermione shot Charlie hard looks.

The red head blushed and raised his hands to ward them off, "Not that I really tried. We're friends, Draco and me. He's a great looker, and if he seemed at all interested I'd have been on him like a shot, but," Charlie looked at Harry, "it's still you, it's always been you."

"It's just strange," Charlie went on, "Because he never talks about you. Not at all."

Harry felt himself sink deeper into his chair.

"He talks to Neville," Hermione said. "Perhaps he would know something. He used to visit all the time when Draco was at Hamilton House."

"Really," Charlie said, doubt filling his voice, "I never saw him."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Don't be petty Charlie. You aren't the only person allowed to be Draco's friend. We all visited him."

Harry looked from Charlie to Hermione, "What? Hamilton House? Visitors? What has been going on?"

Hermione sighed, "Oh Harry."

Steel in his voice, Harry said, "Don't 'Oh Harry' me. What has been going on?"

Charlie and Hermione looked at each other, and then Charlie made a sweeping gesture, telling Hermione to take the floor.

Summoning an amber colored bottle and three snifters from the cabinet in the corner of the study, Hermione began to speak.

Hours later and glassy eyed, Harry sat, mouth agape and staring into the shadows.

"He... He planned it for me."

"Everything," Hermione replied, yawning behind her hand.

"We were going to go together."

Charlie nodded, "Picked out a room with a view of the gardens so you could have the scent of grass and fresh flowers every day. Or he could, after he found out he could give you your vision back."

"And it was Muggle."

Ron's voice came from the doorway, where he leaned heavily on his crutches and stared at his snockered friends, "He wanted you to be comfortable, mate. Thought it might make you happy."

Groaning, Harry clamped his eyes shut, "If he wanted me happy, why didn't he stay?"

Charlie again, "You told him to leave, said you didn't want to see him again. It doesn't get much clearer than that."

"And on that note," Ron said, hobbling into the room and nudging Hermione gently with a crutch, "We should all be getting to bed."

The girl rose, swaying slightly from the alcohol, and followed her fiancé out of the room. Charlie stood as well and walked away, stopping briefly at the door to face Harry again.

"He deserves better than this. But if you love him, you can give him better. He does love you, he's just afraid."

With that, Charlie left. Kreacher had laid a fire in the grate hours previous, when the sun went down, and now Harry turned, tipsy and sad, and stared into the flames.

Remembering wind-tossed white blond locks, Harry drifted off to sleep in his chair, Draco's name on his lips.

( _12345_ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been a bit of a bad day. my own health problems flaring up and some family members as well. it's been A DAY. a comment or some words of encouragement would be really nice is all


	17. Chapter 17

**Harry**

The next morning Harry woke up early with a pounding head ache from the alcohol and his head half twisted down and to the side from falling asleep in his chair so he was staring straight at his armpit.

But he had a plan.

Groaning, he stood and stretched as well as he could. A hangover potion was stashed away in the liquor cabinet, along with some mild pain potions. Easing the stiff muscles of his neck carefully he was able to get his head facing forward again and, grabbing his wand and broom, he rushed out of the house, shouting a message to Kreacher as he left.

( _12345_ )

Fifteen minutes later he was back.

Storming up the stairs he slammed open the first door he came to, and then closed it again. No one was in there. Moving to the next room, he slammed the door open; then just as quickly slammed it closed, a thick red blush on his face.

Behind the thick oak, he heard Hermione's voice a few minutes later.

"Okay, Harry, we're dressed. You can come in now."

Opening the door slowly and easing his way inside, eyes clenched shut, Harry said, "Are you sure?"

Harry heard a muffled laugh and opened his eyes carefully. The blankets were pulled up from the foot of the bed, covering his two best friends from the waist down and Ron was helping Hermione close the buttons on her pajama top.

When the red head was he done, he settled still shirtless on the pillows and pulled Hermione back onto his chest. Then both of them turned to Harry and waited expectantly.

They didn't say anything further, so after a few minutes Harry coughed a little.

This made Hermione smile. "Are you in shock, Harry? We're engaged, we're allowed to be naked together. Now, what did you need?"

Feeling the pink blush warm his cheeks, Harry coughed again, "I know. It's just- it's just strange, and uncomfortable. And no offense Hermione, but I didn't really want to see a naked woman, much less my best friend."

With a grin, Ron reached for the blankets and pulled them higher to cover Hermione's pajama-clad chest, "Well then mate put your eyes back in your head and get on with it. What was so important that you had to burst in on a… intimate moment?"

"Yes Harry," Hermione piped up, pulling the blankets down a bit so she could breathe, "I thought I heard the door slam earlier, did you go anywhere?"

"I did, but... Look, where exactly is Neville?"

"That's where you went," Ron asked, "I thought you would have gone straight after Draco."

Harry sat on the foot of the bed. "That was my original plan, but I'm afraid I'll just scare him again. I need to know exactly what I'm doing before I face him again, and I need to know how he feels. Neville can tell me that."

Hermione shuffled forward on the bed, keeping the blanket tight around her waist, and set her hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Harry, you love Draco, and he loves you. You just need to talk to him."

Harry shook his head. "No. I need to know how he feels before I confront him. If he… if he doesn't love me anymore, than I'm going to let him live his life, and leave him alone."

Hermione's grip grew gentler, "He does love you. We could all tell, even when we didn't like it."

Harry pulled away from Hermione and stood. Facing the door and trying to hold the tremble out of his voice, he said, "I need to know. Where is Neville?"

A half hour later, with directions in hand, Harry mounted his broom again, casting a quick disguising spell over himself and the flying besom, and took off.

Neville had taken an apartment in London , right on the border of the muggle world and the wizarding one. Harry found his name on the letterbox downstairs, and rang the buzzer.

A crackling electronic voice came out of the small speaker on the wall. "Yes?"

"This is Harry Potter? Here to see Neville?"

"Potter? Come on up. I'll buzz you."

Harry heard a buzz, then the door lock released and he was able to get into the building. Neville's apartment was on the fourth floor, and Harry didn't see an elevator, so he took off his cloak, shrinking it and tucking it into his pocket with his shrunken broom, and headed for the stairs.

They were beautiful stairs, shining ivory marble with threads of black and gold. And the banister was made of mahogany or cherry. Something dark and shining, with streaks of red deep under the surface rising in the light of the crystal chandelier that hung at the apex of the cathedral ceiling.

But no matter how beautiful they were, four flights was four flights, and by the time Harry got to Neville's floor he never wanted to see another flight of stairs in his life, he didn't care if they were marble or pure sodding gold.

He raised his hand to knock, but the door opened before it could land, leaving him slightly off balance. Strong hands caught him before he could collapse against the hard chest in front of him, his hand still fisted between them.

Looking up, he saw vicious scar tissue across a broad throat, and above that the smiling face of Neville Longbottom who took the time to steady Harry on his feet before taking his hands away.

Harry missed the warmth for a second, it had been a while since he was held so securely, but he shook it off and looked at his friend.

The last time he saw Neville was when he first woke up after the surgery to return his vision. The boy was pale still, and seemed shrunken with pain and loss after so many deaths. But the intervening months had been good to him. For the first time, Harry noticed that Neville was taller than him by more than a few inches and proportionately broader as sturdy muscles filled out the fabric of his tee shirt.

Still, the warm brown eyes were the same, as well as the crooked grin as the taller boy motioned Harry into the apartment.

The inside was simple, but lovely. Warm colors and soft deeply textured fabrics covered the furniture, and the focal point of the room was a large fireplace next to a picture window that appeared to show a view of Venice , complete with gondolas traveling along the waterways.

A kitchen led off in the other direction, and Harry could see the gleam on the tiles and counters from where he stood. Neville led the way to a small dining room and motioned towards the table, smiling as one of the intricately carved wooden chairs slid itself out, while he sat in another.

Harry took the chair, starting slightly as it slid itself back under the table, neatly gliding his knees under the draping cloth. A small teapot with three teacups and saucers sat on the fabric covered surface, along with a plate of scones and a small jar of vermillion colored jam.

"I know you and I are here, but who is the third cup for," Harry asked. Neville opened his mouth and Harry felt his face turn flaming red, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I forgot. Do you—Do you want some paper or something to write it down?"

"Nice one Potter. You must love those shoes."

Harry turned at the unfamiliar voice and saw a dark-haired man standing in the open doorway to another room.

"What?"

"Well, you are sticking your foot directly in your mouth, so your trainers must be delicious."

The man smirked and Harry felt a pang in his chest at the familiar expression on an unfamiliar face. He shook it off and turned to Neville, "Who is this?"

Neville opened his mouth, and then closed it again, beckoning to the dark haired man.

The dark haired man stood and walked over to the table, taking the empty chair that moved out for him next to Neville. As he sat he accepted Neville's outstretched hand and smiled, his eyes glazing over slightly.

When he spoke again his voice was changed, deeper and slightly hollow, "Harry, this is Blaise Zabini. My bond-mate and husband to be."

Harry started at the name. he remembered Blaise now, but the man looked so much- better? Happier? Harry wasn't sure and he looked from Blaise to Neville, to their joined hands.

"What?"

The hollow voice again, "I'm going to let Blaise tell you, since he explains it better than I do."

The hands disengaged and Harry saw the glazed look disappear from Blaise's eyes. Taking a deep breath, the dark-haired man looked at Harry, "It's simple, Potter. I'm his voice."

"What?"

"You say that a lot, did you know?"

Harry nodded, he had noticed, but he couldn't think of anything else to say. Blaise turned and grinned at Neville who smiled back and pecked his mate on the lips before getting up and walking into the kitchen.

Blaise turned back to Harry with a gentle look on his face. "Okay, here's the story. Nevs and I have been together for about two years now, probably as long as you and Draco."

Harry nodded, but said nothing.

"We've been engaged for a year, so six months before the last battle. The night of the fight he knocked me unconscious and stowed me away in a storage closet for safety."

Harry saw a light pink blush bloom on the man's cheeks as he leaned forward and whispered, "I've forgiven him, but don't let him know. As long as he thinks I'm upset I get to top.

Anyway," he continued, leaning back, the blush fading from his cheeks, "after Nevs got hurt we went through all of the usual medical drama. I blamed myself for not being there for him, to protect him, and he was angry about the loss of his voice. We fought all of the time, turning our anger and frustration against each other.

We broke up for about a month." Blaise's voice trailed off and Harry could see the old sorrow in the man's hazel eyes.

Then, with a broken laugh, he went on, "I still have a few notes he gave me from that time. I show them to Neville when I'm feeling unappreciated. And I'm extremely lucky no one was recording some of what I said.

It took a little while to get over it, but we managed. I mean, I love him. And against his better judgment, he loves me. We started researching solutions for his problem, and this was the best we found."

"So, you're his voice," Harry said.

Blaise shot him a confused look, "Didn't I just say that? Gryffindors, you never listen. Yes, I'm his voice. We were already magically bound, and your pal Granger found a spell that would let Neville share my voice."

Harry had to stop him, "Isn't that—isn't that like being possessed?"

Blaise paused a moment, then said, "In a sense. It's as though everything he wants to say is written on a screen inside my head and I just read it off. I can feel what he wants to express with his words and we've known each other so long it's easy to accept his mind and feelings."

Harry found himself staring at the table top, his fingers tracing the embroidered pattern in the fabric tablecloth. He heard Blaise clear his throat and looked up.

"Harry, Draco loves you. He did what he did for you of his own volition. If there had been another option he would have found it, he spent weeks researching."

"I wish I—I don't know what I wish." Harry met Blaise's eyes. "I wish I could travel back in time and fix this before it got so bad."

Blaise smirked. "Well, there are Time Turners, but considering your frame of mind when all of this began I don't think you would have been willing to listen to yourself."

Harry thought back on those weeks, a haze of fear and anger, resentment and despair. He couldn't understand anything; even Draco's presence was nothing more than a ghost to him at that time.

Sighing heavily, he let his face fall into his hands, mumbling, "You're right. I was a complete git and I wasn't listening to anyone."

"Do you remember any of the stories Draco told you," Blaise asked, his voice subdued and serious.

Harry lifted his head out of his palms, blinking blearily at the brunette Slytherin.

"Stories? I- I don't.."

This time it was Blaise who sighed, "Do you remember anything positive about that time at all?"

Harry shook his head, "All I remember is darkness and pain and fear. It was torture every day, every night."

Blaise gave Harry a look of complete disgust, and Harry felt himself shrink away from the dark glare.

Pushing his chair back decisively, Blaise stood and walked back to the kitchen.

Harry shoved his chair back awkwardly and stood as well, "Wait. You can't just leave. I need your help."

Pausing, Blaise turned, "I don't think I can help you, Potter."

"What?"

Blaise flashed him a saccharine sweet smile then turned and walked into the kitchen. Harry took a few steps after him. He didn't mean to eavesdrop, but he found himself standing just outside of the kitchen anyway, listening.

"Sorry, love, can't be helped."

A brief pause and then Blaise spoke again, "- know he cares, but he hurt—"

Another pause and Harry moved closer to the doorway, trying to stay out of sight.

"I know you want them both to be happy, and so do I, even if Potter isn't exactly my favorite person on Earth. But can they be happy together?"

"…"

"Well, we were different."

Harry took a few steps closer, daring a look into the small room. Blaise and Neville were standing face to face, staring into each other's eyes as various expressions raced across their features. They alternately looked angry, resentful, amused, and resolved.

Finally, Blaise closed his eyes and leaned in; pressing a soft, heated kiss against Neville's lips and Harry moved out of the doorway and back to his seat before either man could see him.

Blaise walked back into the sitting room, a gentle glow in his eyes, "Okay, I will help you. Neville preyed on my better nature, if any Slytherin can be said to have one. But I'm not going to make it easy for you.

I want you to examine memories of that time, when you were in the dark. I think, if you do that, you will learn enough to achieve your ultimate goal."

Harry saw Neville walk out of the kitchen, a soft smile on his face as he settled his hands on Blaise's shoulders.

Blaise tilted his head up and nodded at Neville, then looked at Harry with glazed eyes as the hollow voice returned, "I know it seems as though he's telling you riddles, but this is for your own good. The six weeks you were blind were very important for Draco, and you need to see them from every angle."

Both men looked at Harry with eerily similar expressions of sorrow and reluctance on their faces, "I can't guarantee that what you learn from this will be enough to bring Draco back, but I trust your heart. You have the mind of a Slytherin, Harry, but the heart of a Gryffindor. Now you just need to decide which one to listen to."

Blaise broke out of the trance with a laugh and slapped Neville's hands smartly, "I happen to like your Gryffindor heart. And what's wrong with having the mind of a Slytherin, my love?"

Neville smiled pressed a kiss to the crown of Blaise's head.

"Aw, you wouldn't have it any other way you old softy. Look at you. No matter how muscled up you get you'll always be pure teddy bear through and through," Blaise said, smiling.

Neville grinned and laughed soundlessly and Harry was rapt in watching the couple. They were truly and completely in love, and they had gone through similar circumstances as he and Draco and managed to get through it.

Harry had been telling the truth. He didn't remember much of the six weeks after the final battle, and all he did remember was bad, but maybe there was something he was missing. And 'seeing things from every angle' sounded interesting. He had research to do.

Harry turned back to the couple and saw that Neville had sunk to his knees next to the brunette Slytherin, his hands buried in the thick dark hair as the two men fought through a dueling kiss.

Feeling his cheeks flush as his pants became marginally tighter, Harry said, "All right. Thanks for your help. I have to…er…go."

Waving at the couple, who languidly waved back as they continued their exploration of each other's mouths, Harry left, closing and locking the door behind him and headed for a window he'd spotted at the end of the hall.

Hopefully it looked out onto the wizarding side of the city, because there was no way he was taking those stairs again.

( _12345_ )


	18. Chapter 18

** Harry   
**

Harry sat alone in his study, Dumbledore's pensieve on the desk in front of him, flanked by vials of swirling silver liquid. He'd asked his friends and Zabini to give him their memories of the end of the war and Draco in the hopes that it would help him make sense of everything in his head. He still didn't remember much of his time in the hospital wing, but Zabini had said there were clues in that time, so Harry started there, pouring a memory he got from Ron into the water and diving in after it.

_The infirmary was full, bodies carried in on stretchers or by their comrades._ Harry _moved through the throng like a ghost looking for familiar faces._

_He saw Ron hurry past him, a bleeding Hermione cradled in his arms and a mix of triumph and despair on his face. Neville was carried in behind them, blood streaming from his throat._

"He did it. The Dark Bastard is dead _."_

"Harry did it? He killed him? _" The voice came out of the mass of medi-witches and wizards that huddled together around the potions cabinet. A slim figure pushed his way through and Harry saw Draco, his robes and skin blood-spattered and a terrible hope on his pale aristocratic face._

 _The blond rushed towards Ron, helping him move Hermione onto an empty bed and casting several spells to stop the bleeding from the ragged stump of her arm._ _When the worst seemed to be contained, Draco turned to Ron again, "_ He's alive? Harry? _"_

 _Ron nodded, "_ I think so. It came down to the two of them in the end, just like Harry said it would. There was some kind of fight but I was too far away to see, then there was a light. _"_

 _The red head sank onto a stool, wiping a hand over his face. "_ The light was too bright, I don't know what happened. _"_ Harry _saw the hope fade on Draco's face as Ron went on,_

"I have to get back out there. Voldemort is dead, but his followers haven't given up yet. They still think they can win if they take the castle _."_

 _A voice shouted from the doorway, "_ Any able bodied soldiers, we have to get to the battlements. _" Ron stood with a groan, clapping Draco's shoulder heartily. "_ I'm sure he'll be here any minute. Watch over my girl, will you? _"_

Harry _watched as Draco nodded dumbly, and as Ron left the room the memory faded to grey mist._ Harry _wanted to call out to his friend, tell him to stay off the battlements, or at least stay well back from the ledge but the past was past and there was no changing it now. He took one last look at Draco, hope and despair crossing the blond's face as he moved to another bed, hands extended towards another bleeding body._

_As the mist moved higher and thicker,_ Harry _thought he heard the Slytherin mutter, "_ Please just let him live _."_

_Then he was gone._

Harry came out of the memory sharply, his breath caught in his throat. The scene was muted, but it had happened and tears began to build in his eyes. He buried his face in his hands and took a few deep breaths until he had his emotions under control. Then, dry-eyed, he picked up the next vial, Hermione.

_The infirmary was practically empty, a long row of empty beds lined one wall and against the other was the object of_ Harry _'s attention._

"Draco, you have to sleep. You've been at this for hours. I know it's not like me to say this, but the research can wait. _"_

_A small smile crossed the Slytherin boy's face as he sat heavily slumped over a low table covered in books and parchment._ Harry _could see a curtain shrouded bed beyond it and Draco's left hand disappearing through the thick white drapes._

"I'm sorry Hermione, but I have to. He's sleeping now so I have the time, but once he wakes up… _"_

_A low whimper came from behind the hospital curtain and_ Harry _saw Draco jerk as whatever was on the other side of the barrier pulled, hard._

_Hermione pulled back the curtain and_ Harry _saw himself on the thin infirmary bed curled into a little ball. With movements that spoke of utter weariness and solemn familiarity, Draco got onto the bed and wrapped himself around Harry, his hand still firmly grasped by the fitfully sleeping Gryffindor._

_Hermione's voice was soft, "_ You have to get out of here for a little while Draco, get some rest or something. You're falling apart. You know Harry wouldn't want that _."_

_Draco ran his free hand through the sleeping Harry's hair. The_ Harry _standing a few feet away could almost feel those phantom fingers caressing his scalp._

"It doesn't matter what he would have wanted before. He needs me now _." The sleeping Harry seemed to hear him and agree as he sobbed louder and wrapped Draco's captured arm tighter around him._

"He's waking up, keep your voice down _."_

"Draco _…"_

Harry _gasped when he heard his voice. It was so weak and thin, so frightened. He didn't remember being that scared, not really._

"I'm right here, love _," Draco replied._

_The Memory-Harry stiffened, pushing out wildly. Draco was flung off the bed and Hermione rushed forward as Harry began scratching, ripping, at the white gauze wrapped around his head._

"Get it off, get it off! I can't see! Draco! Where are you, I can't see! _"_

_Memory Harry's voice was shrill and pained and_ Harry _didn't see Draco until the other boy stood up from his place on the floor on the other side of the bed. A vibrant streak of blood tainted the whiteness of his hair but he didn't seem to notice it as he gently pulled Harry's hands away from his face and wrapped him tightly in the blanket crooning gently._

_The storm seemed to have passed and_ Harry _saw himself begin to cry, fat tears soaking through the gauze, echoed by tears on Draco and Hermione's face. The bushy-haired witch opened her mouth, then closed it again._

"I have to stay here, Hermione. This is my home. He's my home _," Draco's voice was steady and firm, though t never lost its gentle tones._

_Hermione nodded her head silently, rubbing at her stump, itself well-wrapped in more of the white gauze._

"You should get that taken care of. It looks nasty _," she said, gesturing to the cut._

_Draco pulled one hand away from Harry, where he'd been rubbing the boy's arms, and touched his head gently. As Harry began to whimper more loudly Draco quickly held him again, the blood leaving a crimson streak on the boy's pale blue pajamas._

_Draco seemed transfixed by the stain and when he looked away from it and Harry to Hermione,_ Harry _saw stark despair cross his face. In a harsh whisper the Slytherin said, "_ He's not getting any better. He just cries and fights. He doesn't even hear me anymore _."_

_And it seemed to be true as the Harry in Draco's arms didn't respond to his words this time._

_But the_ Harry _watching did. He didn't remember any of this, yet there he was awake and in Draco's arms, a position he would give anything to be in again._

"What are you trying to accomplish _," Hermione asked, her voice even and heavy with tears._

 _Draco looked at the boy in his arms, still whimpering quietly, then back at Hermione and_ Harry _had to bite back a gasp at the exhaustion and sorrow in those grey eyes, "_ I want to cure him. I want to make him happy again. He doesn't want to get used to the blindness, he wants to see again, and I have to do that for him _."_

"Draco you can't give him his eyes ba _—"_

"Then I'll do better _," the Slytherin said sharply. Then he shook his head, "_ I'm sorry. I don't mean—I'm just tired _."_

_Hermione nodded and sat heavily on the bed next to the green-eyed boy's._

_Looking more closely at her,_ Harry _saw deep lines of pain and stress on her normally smooth features._

"You should rest, Hermione _," Draco offered softly._

 _Smiling, Hermione said, "_ I think I will _," and turned so she was lying on the bed. "_ Tell us a story? _"_

 _Draco smiled crookedly, his face lightening for a brief moment. "_ I think I will run out of stories soon between you and Harry, but if you insist. _"_

"Once upon a time there were two boys who fought very much and were very much in love. There was a great war, and when it was over, Good triumphing over the forces of Evil of course, the two boys had to decide how they would spend their lives.

One boy wanted to live on a farm, and the other wanted a penthouse apartment high above a bustling city— _"_

"This sounds like Green Acres _," Hermione said through a heavy yawn._

_Draco shot her a confused look before going back to the story._

_Transfixed by the sound of his lover's voice_ Harry _didn't notice Hermione drifting deeper into sleep until the mist rose up from under his feet and the memory was over._

The shift from Pensieve to real life was sharper this time. Harry's head was spinning with questions and as he rubbed his eyes he found that the tears which had threatened before were now pouring down his cheeks.

Why didn't he remember this? He remembered the pain, and the fear, but he had no memory of Draco holding him so gently, or telling him stories.

That dream… Weeks before he'd dreamed of a pale boy telling him stories, maybe that was Draco. Well, there was no maybe about it. That boy was Draco, planning the future that he hoped to share with Harry until he was chased away.

The next memory was from Neville, and as he'd handed it over the now-silent man had gripped Harry's hand gently, granting him a sad smile. Harry wasn't sure what he would see, but he told himself he'd seen the worst of it, and anyway it wasn't a quarter of what Draco had experienced living through everything.

He poured the vial out into the Pensieve and leaned over it, falling into the grey mist again.

Harry _found himself in a garden. It was beautiful. Artfully arranged flower beds made everything seem on the verge of running wild, but Harry knew how much work that required from Draco's descriptions of Malfoy Manor and its grounds._

_The garden seemed to border a large manor house, but before_ Harry _had the chance to look around he saw Neville walking through the grass, thick white bandages wrapped around his throat, and a pale figure at his side._

Harry _rushed closer. The pale figure was Draco, but it wasn't the Draco Harry was used to seeing._

_This Draco looked broken._

_He was thin, unhealthily so. An over-size pair of sunglasses covered half his face, though_ Harry _could swear he saw the edge of a bruise on his cheek. From the weather and the condition of the garden,_ Harry _could tell it was spring. Draco was wearing jeans and long-sleeved tee, which should have been sufficient, but he was shivering. The hand that wasn't wrapped around Neville's hung loosely at his side, his fingers twitching restlessly against his thigh. Even at the worst of their sixth year_ Harry _had never seen Draco so twitchy and uncomfortable._

_As he got closer,_ Harry _could hear the Slytherin talk._

"You know, you're a good listener, Nev _."_

_The taller brunette smiled, lightly touching the hand that wasn't wrapped around Draco's to the bandaging at his throat._

"I know, I know. But you were always a good listener. I mean, after Blaise you were the first person I told. If it hadn't been for you I would never have approached Harr _—"_

_The blond cut himself off, rubbing his free hand over his face and the two continued to walk in silence giving_ Harry _time to study the pair._

_Though they were holding hands,_ Harry _didn't see anything romantic in the gesture._

_Neville guided Draco through the gardens, lightly tugging him back on course when they moved too close to the edge of the paved path. And when Draco had been speaking earlier,_ Harry _thought he saw Neville squeeze lightly on the hand in his grip. The brunette couldn't talk, maybe this was how he communicated before the spell with Blaise?_

_He saw Neville squeeze Draco's hand again, one short squeeze, followed by a long one._

_Nodding his head slightly, Draco said, "_ I'm fine. Really. I'm in a beautiful place full of kind people. My friends visit me, and I have every luxury I could ever want or need _."_

_Another squeeze._

"I don't want to talk about it, about him _."_

_Another squeeze._ Harry _saw Neville's knuckles flex and he wanted to rush forward and push the brunette away from Draco, to protect the blond from whatever had caused a look of pain to cross his face, but this was the past and couldn't be changed._

_Finally, Draco snatched his hand away, Neville letting it go easily, and shook out his fingers. "_ Fine, fine. You want to talk, we'll talk _." Draco turned his head slowly, as if he was searching for something. "_ Is there a bench nearby? There should be _."_

_Neville nodded, and reached for Draco again._

Harry _saw Draco accept Neville's hand gingerly and allow himself to be led to a small bench tucked into the shade of a willow tree._

_The two men sat in silence, and after a few moments Draco leaned over, resting his head against Neville's shoulder._

"Is he okay, Neville? Just one squeeze for yes _."_

_Neville squeezed Draco's hand gently._

"The Weasley's told me he's looking for me, that he wants to find me. Is it true? _"_

_One squeeze._

"I love him, you know? _" Draco's voice was soft._ Harry _could barely hear him over the rustling of the willow branches, so he moved closer. From only inches away he saw a few shining tears catch the light as the drifted down Draco's pale and bruised cheek._

"Should I let him know where I am? _"_

_Harry caught his breath and waited for the response from Neville. One squeeze. One squeeze meant 'yes.'_

_But Neville's hand didn't move._

_Draco took a deep breath and smiled, "_ How do you manage to lecture me without saying anything? It's my decision, isn't it? Meant to be made without any other influences _."_

_This time Neville squeezed, and_ Harry _couldn't stop himself from kicking the grey-ish figure. Not that it had any affect, as Harry's foot went right through the memory, but it made him feel a bit better._

"I almost want to tell him where I am, where we could have been together. Sometimes when I walk through the roses I imagine him standing next to me and describing them. No one does that, you know _," Draco said, turning his face towards Neville._

"They'll tell me where everything is, steps, obstacles, paths. But they won't tell me what color the roses are, or if the sky is cloudy or clear. I think the staff forget sometimes that most of the patients here used to see. I know what colors are, and I miss them. I want them to describe how rich a pink the roses are. I want to know how the stars look, or the moon. I want to know if the grass under my feet is as deep a green as- I want _—"_

_Draco's breath hitched, and the blond suddenly sagged onto Neville's shoulder. Their hands still joined,_ Harry _saw Neville wrap his free arm around the former Slytherin's shoulder as the boy wept silently._

"Why do I miss him so much? He sent me away _." His voice was choked, thick with sorrow, but_ Harry _could still make out every word and they broke his heart. Losing his sight hadn't done this to Draco,_ Harry _had._

_After a few moments, a calmer Draco leaned away again and removed the sunglasses, rubbing the cuff of his shirt over his face to wipe away the remnants of his weeping._

_A pale purple bruise circled Draco's eye, and_ Harry _saw Neville reach out to caress the swollen skin. As soon as his hand made contact, Draco flinched away._

"Sorry about that Nev _." He chuckled, but it was a heavy sound, completely unlike Draco's real laugh. "_ If you can believe it, I walked into a door. One of those middle of the night accidents where I start thinking I can open my eyes if I try hard enough _."_

_Harry saw Neville wrap one arm around Draco's shoulders, and the two boys sat together in silence until the memory faded away into mist._

This time it wasn't enough to shake his head and go back to the memories. Harry stood up and paced the room. From the note Neville had attached to the vial at the time Draco was in Hamilton House Harry was searching Europe for him.

During their hours in the study, Charlie had told Harry about the life Draco created in Hawaii , but now the red-head included a vial of his memories of the time with the rest of his friend's contributions. Harry wasn't sure he wanted to se it. He didn't know if he could bear to watch the man he loved living without him, any more, he imagined, than Draco probably wanted to picture him.

But he had made a resolution to watch these memories, to see them through completely, so with a steady hand he poured the silver liquid into the Pensieve and, holding his breath, let his awareness follow it.

_When next he opened his eyes he found himself in a small bedroom. Not small by the standards_ Harry _had grown up with, but much more modest than he expected from the Malfoy heir. The furniture was simple, and the floor completely uncluttered. Sliding glass doors faced out onto a view of the ocean and it appeared to be the middle of the afternoon. As_ Harry _watched, the door slid open and Draco walked through._

_He was beautiful._

_He looked healthier, as though he had gained back not only the weight he lost after_ Harry _left, but also any pounds that were sacrificed to fighting, to the war. His hair shone in the bright afternoon sun, brushing his shoulders and curling around his face. A slight smile traced the fine features and Harry looked up past the tempting lips and pert nose to meet his eyes._

_-but they weren't there._

_The pale blond lashes that were Draco's only complaint about his appearance brushed his cheeks and his eyelids sat closed. The fact that his eyes were gone completely wasn't immediately noticeable, but knowing it,_ Harry _could see that the lids sat flatter, and more hollow than they should._

_As_ Harry _watched, Draco picked up a pair of sunglasses from a table and slipped them on before he crouched down on the floor._

"Bogart? Bogart, come here love _."_

_A large dog, some kind of retriever mix, rushed into the room dragging along leash behind him. The dog threw itself into Draco's arms, knocking the Slytherin off balance and both blond and dog fell to the floor in a happy pile._

"You spoil that thing, you know _."_

Harry _heard the voice and turned to see Charlie standing in the open doorway of the room. The red head was smiling and there was a look of love in his eyes as they focused on the laughing ex-Slytherin._ Harry _felt jealousy rise dark and fierce in his chest. Charlie was here. Draco was happy and healthy and Charlie was with him in that moment, the way_ Harry _hadn't been in a long time, or maybe ever._

Harry _felt his hands fist at his side and the hot pain of his stubby torn nails biting into his palms snapped him out of it. This was the past, Charlie and Draco weren't together, and Charlie had given him this memory so he could use the information to try and get the blond back._

_The jealousy he felt fizzled into a cold and nauseating ash of guilt. Charlie Weasley was his friend, and if he and Draco had gotten together it would have been_ Harry _'s fault for pushing the blond away in the first place._

_The Charlie of the memory walked through_ Harry _and towards Draco, now standing with the dog's leash wrapped tightly around his hand._ Harry _shivered at the cold sensation, and again at the smile that Draco flashed at the red head._

"I know I spoil her, but she's my baby. Was she good at the vet? _"_

 _Charlie nodded. "_ Of course. She was a perfect angel. Dr. Lacker asked after you and I told him you were busy. You should have come _."_

 _The blond paled slightly, then shook his head, sending tendrils of white blond hair flying._ "You know I'm not much of one for doctor's Charles. I've had a bit too much of them _," he said, using the hand not caught up in the dog's leash to brush his hair out of his face and push his sunglasses higher on his nose._

Harry _saw Charlie blush lightly and rub the back of his head._

_The quiet pause was broken by the dog, barking and tugging Draco out of the room. Charlie followed the pair and consequently so did_ Harry _._

_Both men were silent, so_ Harry _used the time to look at the apartment and watch Draco move through it smoothly. If he didn't know better he wouldn't know the blond was blind at all. Still he could see the place where accommodations had been made. the floors were completely clear of throw rugs or any of the loose detritus_ Harry _associated with anywhere Draco lived. There was large typewriter set on a table again one of the walls in the living room, and as_ Harry _wandered over he saw that there were no letters printed on the keys, only a series of raised dots, and the paper next to the machine was much thicker than parchment._

"Twelve-thirty PM, sir. It is time for your walk _."_

_The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, repeating its message over and over again. It was female, smooth and refined._ Harry _searched the walls for a speaker or intercom of some kind but saw nothing._

Harry _saw Draco snap his fingers and the voice stopped._

"That is a neat charm. Have you thought of patenting it _," Charlie asked._

"It's just a modification of a Muggle calendar for the blind. The only change I made is that I can hear it throughout the apartment _."_

_As the men stepped out the apartment the memory faded into mist._ Harry _expected to return to his chair in the study, but then the Pensieve memory kicked in again and he was back in the apartment. This time Charlie was alone, flipping through the newspaper at the large scarred dining room table_ Harry _had seen in the previous memory._

Harry _heard keys jangling against the door of the apartment seconds before the door opened and Draco walked in, the dog leading the way._

_The blond looked tired and resigned. He didn't say a word to Charlie, instead just walking across the room to collapse in one of the heavy overstuffed armchairs in the parlor._

"Are you alright, D _," Charlie asked, voicing Harry's own question._

 _The blond sighed heavily, his head falling back against the chair top. "_ I just get sick of it Charles. It sounds like they're not just sorry, they're sorry **for** me. _"_

Harry _watched the red head get up from the table and go join Draco in an armchair of his own. Charlie leaned forward, his elbows braced on his knees. "_ Well, I'm not sure what to tell you. I've never tried working in the Muggle world, wouldn't know how to go about it _"_

_Draco took a deep breath and buried his face in his hands as Charlie went on._

"Harry was at the house _."_

Harry _watched Draco closely for some kind of reaction. If he was right this memory happened just after that first dinner with the Weasley's, the one where Dudley called him and told him about the flight._

"He came to dinner. I didn't tell him anything, just gave mum and dad an update. But he looked really upset _."_

_Confusion and hope were chased by resignation and a hint of sadness._

"Did he _," Draco asked, his voice weak. He was looking up from his hands, facing Charlie._

"Yeah. He spent most of dinner staring into space, fiddling with this necklace he was wearing. 'S weird, you know? _"_

 _The blond looked distracted now. "_ What is _," he asked._

"His face with your eyes _," Charlie replied. "_ Maybe you should contact him _."_

 _The blond seemed to be contemplating it for a moment, his beautiful face completely blank. Then he shook his head firmly. "_ No. He doesn't want to see me. He made that very clear. It's better like this, anyway, he can build a new life, and so can I. _"_

Harry _watched Draco get up and walk across the room, to a closed doorway. Torn between chasing the blond even though he knew it would do no good, and staying with Charlie who might say something more,_ Harry _stood frozen between them._

_As Draco stood in the doorway of what_ Harry _could see was a bathroom, he heard_

_Charlie mutter, "_ If you want to build a new life, why haven't you? _"_

 _Draco walked into the bathroom and closed the door,_ Harry _moved closer and pressed his hand against the ghostly shimmer of the surface, as close as he could get to touching his lover, and as the grey memory swirled around his feet he heard Draco whisper faintly, "_ I don't know how _."_

_The swirling grey mist solidified in the doorway of Draco's bedroom again. The furniture was the same, but the balcony doors were closed and it was dark. A blanket-covered shape huddled on the bed and as_ Harry _stood there he saw the shape move and he heard the blond whimper. He heard loud whimpers turn into sobs, and in turn those sobs became screams._

Harry _rushed forward to try and wake the tormented blond, but his hands passed through the tossing figure. He stood over his sleeping lover, helpless, as Charlie Weasley ran through his ghostly form and to the blond in the bed, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him hard._

"Draco! Wake up! It's just a dream _."_

_The blond started awake, covered in sweat and panting. He ran fine-boned hands over his face, sniffling lightly._ Harry _noticed that Charlie didn't say anything about the tears that rolled down the ex-Slytherin's face._

_After Draco's breathing slowed, he moved to sit up and found himself caught up in entangling blankets. Charlie moved forward to help him get free, but as soon as he made contact, Draco waved the red head away and stood on his own._

_Charlie accepted the rejection stoically._ Harry _had the feeling it wasn't the first time the red head had been pushed away._

_Taking up a seat not too far from the bed, Charlie said, "_ What was it this time? The plane again? _"_

_A sour, cranky look took over Draco's face at the words._ Harry _had seen that expression a hundred times or more, the Slytherin was not a fan of mornings, and the familiarity of it brought a wide grin to his face._

"I don't want to talk about it _," Draco said with a small pout, and_ Harry _wasn't surprised._

 _Charlie didn't seem to be either. "_ You should. This isn't healthy. You haven't had a proper sleep in ages, and thanks to your nightmares, neither have I _."_

 _The blond looked taken aback at that, but he rallied quickly and replied, "_ Then leave _."_

_Charlie's mouth dropped open in shock and_ Harry _saw a twitch in Draco's jaw that showed the blond might have been as surprised at his words as Charlie was._

"What? _"_

_The twitch firmed in Draco's jaw and_ Harry _knew the blond made a decision._

"You heard me, Charles _."_

_The red head closed his mouth with a snap and stood sharply, the chair pushing across the floor with a loud screech. Draco didn't react and slowly Charlie turned and walked out of the room._

Harry _could feel the memory melting around him and it felt final, as though this was the end, so he focused on the blond, trying to absorb as much as he could of his lover before he had to leave._

_The last image he saw was Draco, standing alone in a dim and shadowed bedroom, his arms wrapped tightly around his chest._

The memory stream swirled faster. Harry threw his awareness out of the Pensieve and landed on his study floor in a sprawl, his heart racing and the ache in his chest that had taken root when Draco disappeared throbbing fiercely.

His head throbbed in the same rhythm, and he pressed his hands against his forehead. He felt the thick dampess of tears and sweat rolling down his face before he realized he was crying. But once he knew, he couldn't stop. Harry pulled his knees to his chest and just sat there, on the floor, and let himself cry. He let every night he spent tossing from nightmares in an empty bed roll through his mind in one horrifyingly cold burst. Every moment he had spent without the blond, from the very first seconds in the hospital wing, came crashing down on him with the weight of mountains.

He came back to himself after what felt like hours, his throat sore and hoarse, and his eyes burning red. His legs were numb from sitting on the floor, and his muscles had stiffened up while he was buried in his own emotions. Coughing to clear his throat, he slowly stood, stretching out his back and legs as he did. He rubbed his face with his shirt sleeve, wincing slightly on the tenderness of the salt-sodden skin, and took a few deep breaths.

The surface of the liquid in the Pensieve bowl shimmered, drawing Harry's gaze to the play of light. The sunset outside the room sent a red glow over the liquid then and Harry saw himself reflected in the crimson surface. The rippling image shifted, deep creases appearing across his cheeks, his grimace twisted into a leering grin or mask of despair in turn. Harry spent long moments staring into the bowl, trying to decide what to do. Finally he mustered up every trace of Gryffindor courage he still possessed and leaned over the bowl. The final memories were from Blaise. He had offered them grudgingly and after great urging from Neville. Or at least that was what the note attached to the two vials said. It also said that after a litany of the most depressing moments everyone could find, these might cheer Harry up. He wasn't sure if that would be true, but Harry was willing to try.

Wiping his eyes, he poured out the contents of the first vial.

_The Slytherin dorms were dim and cool. The furniture, all heavy-looking antiques, sat against the walls and on one bed was the reclining form of Blaise Zabini._

Harry _heard Draco before he saw him._

"That stupid Potter _."_

_Blaise was reading as the blond Slytherin swooped into the room like a miniature version of Snape. The brunette put his book aside and appeared to devote all of his attention to the other boy._

Harry _did the same, and as he did one thing struck him hard. Draco was tiny. He had seemed larger with his sneer and his bodyguards, but the blond was short, and thin if his neck and wrists peeping out of the enveloping black fabric of his robes were any indication._

_Both boys looked about fourteen, so_ Harry _knew the memory was an old one, and he held his breath to see what in it could possibly relate to the problems he and Draco were having now._

_Blaise sighed, "_ What is it now? _"_

 _Draco threw himself onto the mattress next to Blaise, pouting mightily. "_ Potter was supposed to meet me for a duel last night but he never showed up. _"_

"Aw, little Drake was stood up? And this was supposed to be your first date _," Blaise simpered at Draco, his hands fisted under his chin and his eyes filled with a kind of limpid innocence that_ Harry _couldn't possibly believe._

 _Draco scowled and punched his friend in the arm. "_ Shut up. This wasn't a date _," he insisted, even as_ Harry _saw a tracing of pink rise in his cheeks._

 _All at once serious, Blaise put his hands on Draco's shoulders, "_ Look, we're all too old for this, and the world is getting too serious to play in. If you like him, maybe you should tell him. _"_

 _The fetching blush in Draco's cheeks faded into a grey pallor as the blond boy looked down at his hands, "_ You know, I almost would. I think he would probably punch my face in but it might be worth it for the slim chance that he felt the same _."_

"But _," he continued looking Blaise and consequently_ Harry _in the eyes, "_ it would never work. For us to be friends or more or anything good, I would have to join the Light. The slim chance that he might see me as a friend doesn't compare to the very good chance that my father would kill me for even considering it. _"_

_Draco opened his mouth to say something more, but gave up, closing his eyes and leaning heavily against Blaise's shoulders. The brunette wrapped an arm around him and the two sat in silence. As the room faded into the smoky mist of a Pensieve transition_ Harry  _could swear he saw tears on both boys' faces._

The next memory, according to the note Blaise had attached to a second vial, was from when Harry and Draco first got together, during one of the lulls in the fighting when almost everyone they could find was holed up in Grimmaud Place .

_The formal parlor of Grimmaud Place was packed. If_ Harry _hadn't been a ghost in the space he would be trapped in a corner and unable to see anything. But since it was only a memory and he could move as he liked,_ Harry _roamed the large room, looking for Draco._

_He found the blond sitting in a corner of his own, tucked up close to Blaise. Both boys were smiling and_ Harry _felt a hot burst of jealousy run through his veins at the sight. He pushed it away when he saw the blond look up and beam at Past Harry, who had just walked into the room. Because past-Harry didn't have the advantages he did,_ Harry _was able to move closer to his Slytherin._

"I think he really loves me, Blaise _," Draco said. Then the blond giggled and_ Harry _froze, he had heard Draco laugh, chortle, snicker, and even guffaw. But he had never giggled._

_Blaise seemed to be just as taken aback as his mouth dropped open._

_Draco reached out and pressed it closed with one pale hand. "_ Not a good look for you, Blaise. _"_

 _Blaise smiled and_ Harry _thought he could see a bit of what Neville liked in the slim brunette. But the smile fell too quickly as Blaise said, "_ Are you sure this is a good idea, Draco? _"_

_The blond opened his mouth, as if to reply, then closed it again, his pale brows knit and a faint furrow on the smooth skin of his brow._

_Finally, "_ I know it is, Blaise, it has to be. I know that we're at war and things are dangerous now, but I am happy _." with those words a blinding smile crossed the boy's face. "_ I am happy, and I know what it means to say that. No matter what happens today, or tomorrow, or next week, I am happy and I am in love. I don't care if the world ends when the final battle does, as long as I have Harry, everything will be okay. _"_

 _The brunette didn't look entirely convinced, but he wrapped an arm around Draco's shoulders and grinned at him. "_ If you're happy, I'm happy _." the grin grew a bit brighter as Blaise whispered, "_ Maybe we can have a double wedding _."_

Harry _saw his past self finally approaching the blushing pair and the memory faded out on the image of past-Harry dragging Draco away to the privacy of a shadowed doorway, hung with mistletoe._

He came out of the memory grinning. He remembered that kiss, and at the time he wanted to know why Draco and Blaise were smiling, but the blond refused to tell.

Everything he has seen was over-powering, overwhelming, he felt giddy and tearful at once. So many things had happened without him, either after he had abandoned the newly-blind Slytherin, or when he was so wrapped up in the war and himself that he wasn't paying attention. And what did he have to show for it? Empty arms and silver eyes.

Harry knew what he had to do, and he only hoped he had the courage to do it.

( _12345_ )


	19. Chapter 19

**Draco**

"You want to go to work with me," Draco said.

"Yes," Charlie replied.

"Why," Draco countered.

Charlie didn't say anything, instead moving closer to Draco until he was only a few short finger lengths away. Draco tried to ignore his presence, but when the red head didn't move, Draco became nervous. It was strange, frightening, to have someone so close to him and be unable to see them or what they were doing.

Draco felt his breathing quicken, and he half-raised his hands to push Charlie away when the red head stepped back.

"That's why I'm coming with you. You're regressing."

Draco shook his head, "I'm not regressing. I was attacked and frightened, it could have happened to anyone and they would behave the same way. I'll be fine."

He heard Charlie moving through the room and forced himself to stand perfectly still.

"It took almost two months for you to be in a room full of people without panicking after you lost your sight, D. Now you can barely stand to have me next to you for a few minutes, and you know I would never do anything to hurt or frighten you."

Draco got up from the table. The discussion had begun halfway through breakfast and continued while Draco tried to choke down the last of Molly Weasley's excellent scones and a cup of tea, both of which tasted like ash in his mouth.

Making his way through the small living room to the couch, Draco settled down on one of the overstuffed chairs. Bogart came over and laid her head on his knee. He rubbed the dog's ears absently as he thought about what Charlie said.

It had only been two days since the attack and Draco hadn't left the apartment once. Not that he couldn't, he hastened to remind himself, he just didn't need to.

Still, Draco knew himself well enough to understand that if he stayed in the apartment too long he might never leave, so he cleared his mind and focused on his day. He had to go in to work.

He had to get back into his regular routine.

So, gritting his teeth, he called out to Charlie who had been cleaning the kitchen loudly, "Fine. You can come. But no back talk and keep your hands to yourself."

Draco heard the red head laughing in the kitchen and got up to change out of his dressing gown and into some clean clothes.

( _12345_ )

The trip seemed to take forever. The bus was late and crowded. Draco had a seat in the benches near the driver, with Bogart crouched underneath, but people were pressed in tight around him and he forced his breath to stay even.

Charlie had boarded with him, but there weren't any open seats nearby and with more passengers coming at every stop the red head had been forced to move and stand at the back of the bus. Draco had given him the street directions so he wouldn't miss the stop.

The familiar voice of the bus driver cut through the buzz of Ilocano conversation from the ladies sitting around Draco, "Okay, bruh, we're here."

Draco smiled and stood, thanking him as the man helped him get Bogart loose from the tangle of legs in the aisle of the bus.

Once both of them were free, Draco stepped down into the sunlight of the street outside the bus and waited for Charlie.

Heavy breathing preceded the man's voice, "Sorry, I got caught up. Is it always this busy? Some woman hit me with her purse."

"It can get bad some days, but I don't think it was too crushed. I found a seat after all." Draco smirked, failing to mention that the seats at the front of the bus were reserved for elderly and disabled passengers, and listened to Charlie grumble for a moment about being trampled on as he let Bogart lead him to the doors of Hale Kokua.

"So, this is where you work," Charlie said.

Draco heard a thread of something strange and awed in the other man's voice, "Why? Is there something wrong with it?"

A brief pause, and then Charlie said, "No, it's beautiful. The outside looks like stone or something and there's marble. I guess it's just not what I expected."

"I'm afraid I wouldn't know," Draco said, slightly irritated. He had never seen the facing of the building, but an idle hand run across the rough surface made it feel like stone. He had never seen the arches or pillars that Deacon described during his initial tour.

After six months Draco sometimes forgot what it meant to be blind, immersed every day in darkness, but moments like this brought it back.

Deacon's warm voice broke in, "Actually, the stone is coral."

"Coral," Charlie repeated. "I knew you could make jewelry out of it, but I didn't think you could build with it."

The man laughed. "Well, you can. There are actually two other coral buildings on the islands, both churches. I'm Deacon, by the way. Deacon Winter."

"Ch-"

Draco heard Charlie stutter. They had never come up with an alias for the Weasley and while normally the red head could think on his feet, he seemed distracted today.

"Deacon this is my friend Charles Warren. He insisted on coming in with me today to make sure everything was safe. Call him Chas."

"Pleased to meet you, Chas," Deacon's voice was low and smooth, carrying a tone Draco hadn't heard in it before.

"Likewise," Charlie replied, and his voice sounded similar.

Draco had heard Charlie speak like that before, when they first became friends and the red head was flirti— Draco felt a pink blush run up his cheeks and he moved to grab Charlie's elbow.

"Well, we'd better get going. I'm sure the children are waiting."

With a quick flick of his wrist Draco snapped open his cane, then let Bogart guide him and Charlie up the short flight of stone stairs and into the building.

Under his breath, feeling the heat in his face still, Draco muttered to Charlie, "Is he gone?"

"Is who—Oh, Deacon? Yes, he's gone," the red head replied.

Raising his voice slightly, Draco went on. "So, you like him?"

Draco felt a sharp tug on his arm as the Weasley froze. "I—I"

"It's fine if you do, Charles. I've been telling you to find someone, and maybe Deacon could be exactly what you need. He's interesting and intelligent, and," Draco added, thinking back on his last conversation with his boss, "Slytherin enough to keep you on your toes. The only thing I don't know is whether he's good looking, though—"

Charlie cut in, "He definitely is."

Draco laughed, "Well then, I don't see any problem."

"It's ju—"

Charlie said something, but Draco didn't hear him as his ears were filled with the high pitched voices of children, and Bogart's enthusiastic yelps.

"You're back," one of the girls shouted.

"We thought you were dead," Timothy added with disturbing relish.

"Mr. Winter sent Harry away because of you," a boy said. Draco heard the quiet squeak of tires and handed his cane and Bogart's leash to Charlie, kneeling down in front of the wheel chair.

"Peter?"

He could feel the chair jerk under his hands, but it was small, as was its occupant, so Draco planted his weight and kept Peter in place. He laid his hands over the thin fingers of the boy as he gripped the arms of the wheelchair.

"I'm sorry, but Harry could have seriously hurt me. What if he had tripped Timothy? Or Susan? They're not used to being blind and they might not have caught themselves."

Draco heard tears in the ten-year-old's voice. "I don't care. Harry was my friend and you sent him away. It's your fault."

The words rang in Draco's ears as the boy pushed him, unbalancing him and tumbling him to the floor as he heard the wheels rolling away.

Draco's head was spinning as he heard Timothy yell, "Shut up. It's not his fault. Harry could have killed him."

Draco shushed Timothy, getting up again carefully with the boys help.

He heard Charlie's worn sneakers squeal against the flooring before he heard the red head's voice.

"D, are you okay? You're pale as a ghost."

Forcing a smile onto his face, Draco replied, "I'm always pale, Charles. But I am tired, I think we should go."

Timothy and some of the others spoke up in protest, and Draco assured them he would be back in a few days, when he was feeling better. The Slytherin couldn't help but notice, however, that Peter's voice was missing from the throng.

Letting Charlie guide him and Bogart through the center, Draco let himself wander in his thoughts. He knew that Harry, little Harry, was Peter's best friend, and he knew that the boy needed to vent his emotions over the separation.

But the accusation still stung, and it felt all too familiar.

They left the building, Draco stepping out into the sunshine as Charlie said something to Deacon before he joined his friend outside.

The two men walked towards the bus stop, Draco still caught up in his thoughts until a sharp tug on his arm pulled him back to awareness.

"D? What's going on? Why did we leave?"

There was sincere concern in Charlie's voice, no trace of his usual humor. And Draco debated answering him for long moments before he resolved himself to just do it.

"That little boy? The one in the wheel chair?"

"Peter," Charlie said, questioningly.

Draco nodded in confirmation, tightening his grip on his cane. "He said I sent away his best friend, that it's my fault Harry is gone."

Draco heard the stifled gasp, and restrained one of his own as a warm arm settled over his shoulders.

"D, it's not your fault. Not this Harry; and not your Harry."

Draco shook off the arm and the comfort it offered. "Yes it is, Charlie. I made the decision to do the transplant without asking him. And then I waited for him to notice, to say something, without telling him what was going on. Merlin, he was living in the darkness for weeks, afraid and in pain, and I never said a word."

Draco sighed heavily, hearing Bogart echo the exhalation against his head.

"If I had been there, in the field at his side, he wouldn't have gotten hurt. If I had been a better lover, a better boyfriend, I could have soothed him in the Infirmary. If I had been a better person I would have found a way to fix everything without fouling it all up again. And when I have the chance to make it all better, what do I do," Draco asked, then steamed ahead without waiting for an answer. "I run. I run as far as I can go, and for what? Harry didn't care. He proved that night after night when he pushed me away, then screamed that he knew I would leave him. And then when he saw—when he saw—he couldn't look at me, Charlie. Why couldn't he look at me?"

The blonds' last words fell into a whisper and he felt Charlie put his arm around him again. This time he didn't push the red head away. Instead he pressed his face against Charlie's aloha shirt clad chest and let himself cry. He let himself cry in the way he hadn't since that first night.

"My head is spinning, Charlie. I want to go home."

Draco felt a warm hand caressing his head, his back, and Bogarts's damp tongue ran roughly over his fingers.

"It's okay D. We're going home."

Draco nodded into Charlie's chest and the red head lifted him in sturdy arms. Curling into the warm body Draco didn't know when he fell asleep.

When he woke up he was back in his bed, his cheek resting on a 500 thread count pillowcase, a cool contrast to the brush of flannel sheets against his arms and back. Charlie had asked him how the Malfoy heir, used to every sort of luxury imaginable and some that hadn't been thought of yet, could prefer flannel bedding to silk or Egyptian cotton. At the time Draco just smiled enigmatically and said he was eccentric because he didn't want to admit that the worn nubbed fabric reminded him of Harry, of long nights curled up to the Gryffindor's side as they talked about their future in a Voldemort-free world.

In his mind's eye Draco could still picture the long lazy mornings he and Harry would spend together, on the rare occasion that the other boy didn't have to run off and save a cat stuck up a tree or something.

In those hours Draco would pretend to sleep, his head on Harry's chest as he counted the Gryffindor's even breaths. The green eyed boy's voice rumbled under Draco's head. Draco was never sure if Harry knew he was awake when he muttered words of love and affection.

No one had opened the door or even knocked, but Draco heard faint atonal singing and the clattering of pots coming from the kitchen, so he knew Charlie was out there. The morning hours passed quickly as Draco drifted from sleep to waking, but as the day aged the humidity grew until Draco had to forcefully push off the cloying weight of the flannel sheets.

Abruptly he was angry. Angry in a way he hadn't been for months. He remembered his teary breakdown against Charlie's chest. He had promised himself months ago that he would never be that vulnerable, that weak again, and he'd just fallen apart. He was disgusted with himself for that and with Harry for being the root cause of it all.

Acutely aware of Charlie's presence in the apartment, Draco sat up carefully, his head feeling heavy from all of the crying he had done earlier. He stood and made his way to the en suite bathroom. In a fit of pique he scattered his sweat-damp clothes on the floor, knowing he might trip over them later and not particularly caring.

Once he was in the bathroom with the door locked and a good silencing charm up he climbed into the shower and, under the pressured spray of warm water, vented his frustration against Harry, against everything.

"That bastard. He had the nerve to kick me out! I gave him my eyes for Merlin's sake. And I was supposed to sit back sniveling and accept it? And I did. I can't believe it. I mean, I'm Draco Malfoy, for Merlin's sake. It may not mean what it once did, but it's not nothing. I can't believe I let that bastard walk all over me."

Now Draco indulged himself with an impression of Harry, albeit a bit more whining and high pitched than the boy's regular voice.

"Oh Draco, won't you please give up your family and your entire life for me?"

He answered himself in only a marginally deeper version of his own voice, "Why of course, Harry. Because I love you."

"And can you be nice to all of my friends, even the rude ones, and let me walk all over you when I'm upset and frustrated because my life is SOOOOO hard?"

The deep voice again, "Of course, Harry. Anything you need to make you happy."

"And after I've told you I hate you a hundred times can you give me your ey—"

Draco stopped himself, finally noticing the hot tears that ran down his face to mix with the slowly cooling water of the shower.

In his normal voice, he said, "I can't blame him. I wish I could, as it would make everything easier. But that isn't fair." The last word was spat out sharply. Draco took a deep breath of the apple shampoo scented air and resolved himself, "I have to get on with my life and for real this time. No more waiting, no more fantasies, and no more hiding."

It had been too long since Draco had hugged Molly Weasley, or tugged Hermione's tangled curls.

He got out of the now-chilled shower and dried off quickly. Releasing the silencing charm and the lock at the same time he moved carefully through the minefield of dirty laundry he had created. He threw on some casual clothes and made his way to the kitchen, "Charlie, I've decided."

"Decided what," the red head asked; laughter in his voice.

"I'm giving up on Harry. It's not worth it anymore."

A pregnant silence gestated in the room before an old familiar voice said, "You give up?"

Harry was in his kitchen.

( _12345_ )


	20. Chapter 20

** Harry   
**

Harry prepared for two days before he worked up the courage to go. And even then he'd spent almost fifteen minutes in front of Draco's door, analyzing his appearance in a decorative mirror on the wall and practicing a brief apologetic speech before he managed to knock.

Eventually he had the nerve to hold his hand up to the door and he stood there frozen for long moments until the door opened without his ever making contact and he was greeted by Charlie Weasley's grinning face.

"Well, are you or aren't you?"

Harry could feel his cheeks heating up and his hand, fingers still wrapped in a loose fist, fell to his side. "Am I what?"

"Coming in." With that the red head pulled the door open wider and bowed, waving Harry into the apartment with a graceful arm.

Harry walked through the doorway and looked around the room. It looked different in the light of day and outside of bad memories. The furniture was comfortable and light to go with the wall treatments and curtains. A large living room sat next to the open kitchen, and in the shadows opposite a long balcony that looked out over the ocean Harry could see three small doors that he knew from the Pensieve memories went to the bathroom, Charlie's bedroom, and Draco's bedroom.

Seeing where his eyes were going, Charlie said, "He's sleeping right now. Had a bad day yesterday. Best to let him get up on his own as he's a complete bear to wake." Charlie trailed off, then laughed weakly. "But I guess you knew that already. Breakfast?"

Harry followed Charlie to the kitchen and took a seat at a battered and scarred table. As the red head bustled among pots and pans, Harry ran his fingers across the pitted surface. Draco sat at this table, he knew, maybe even in this chair and running his hands over this surface.

From the back of the apartment, Harry heard water running. He moved forward in his chair before scooting back again. A year ago he would have been welcome to join the blond in the shower, but not right now, and not for a long time, if ever.

He strained his ears to hear what was going on in the other room, but Charlie started singing and Harry moved into the living room area to get away from the noise.

A large black dog padded towards him and Harry recognized it from the memories Charlie provided, though it seemed much larger in person.

It eyed him with suspicion and Harry sat very still. He'd had a few run-ins with very large dogs and they tended not to go well, Sirius notwithstanding. The dog moved closer and Harry offered it his hand. After a few curious sniffs the animal seemed to come to a decision and it licked Harry's fingers warmly before moving its head within scratching range.

Harry smiled and scratched the dog around the ears as Charlie came out of the kitchen, a pot of tea in one hand and two mugs gripped in the other.

"Bogart! You leave him be."

The dog started and moved away and Harry turned to Charlie. "You didn't have to do that. We were getting along, me and him."

Setting the mugs on the table and taking a seat Charlie began to pour the tea without looking up.

"Just so you know, 'he' is a 'she.'"

Harry looked at the dog but didn't see anything to indicate gender.

Charlie caught the look and laughed. "It doesn't matter to her, but if you're trying to get into Draco's good books, calling his dog a boy might not be the best way to go about it."

Harry sighed, absently running his fingers through the dog's thick fur. "I'm not sure there is any way to get into his good books. Merlin, Charlie, those memories—"

"Never mind those, Harry. The past is the past and there's no changing it, but you have to focus on the future. If I didn't think this would be good for the both of you, I would have talked Hermione out of it."

That surprised a laugh out of Harry. "You think you can talk Hermione out of something? You think anyone could?"

Charlie grinned at that before he began to laugh as well. Eventually the laughter faded away and Charlie returned to the kitchen alcove, banging around pots and pans and humming atonally.

Harry was on the verge of asking the Weasley brother if he could stop, for the sake of humanity, when the bedroom door opened and Draco came out.

Harry breath caught in his throat and he could feel his mouth drying up.

The blond was more beautiful than Harry remembered, more beautiful than he looked in all of the memories Charlie had sent because he was real and whole and healthy and only a few feet away.

Dressed in faded blue jeans and a black t-shirt Draco looked like any number of the dreams Harry had whimpered and sweated through for the past few months.

And the blond was smiling.

"Charlie, I've decided."

The red head was standing a few feet away from Harry, a wide conspiratorial grin on his face as he winked at Harry.

"Decided what?"

Draco took a deep breath and turned towards the voice. "I'm giving up on Harry. It's not worth it anymore."

Harry felt his heart fall into his shoes. He wanted to scream or throw himself at Draco, but he just sat frozen.

After a few seconds the words fell out of his mouth.

"You give up?"

Draco's head turned towards him sharply and the blond paled, swaying on his feet.

Harry stood up but before he could move Charlie was at Draco's side, supporting his weight while leading him to the table and the other empty chair.

"Are you-"

"Are you okay," Harry asked, cutting Charlie off.

Draco shook his head, his lips pinched tight.

Charlie waved Harry away and he reluctantly went, moving into the kitchen doorway where he could still see the other men.

"Draco, are you okay? You're not going to be ill, are you? Because if you throw up then I'm going to throw up out of sympathy, and you know how much I hate thro-"

Harry watched as Draco pressed his fingers against Charlie's mouth.

"I know and I really don't need to hear it again, Charles. Is he still here?"

Charlie looked at Harry, a questioning light in his blue eyes. Harry nodded and the red head said, "Yes. Did you want to talk to him?"

Draco snorted. "Well no, not really. But he's here so I suppose I can't waste the opportunity. Harry?"

Harry bit his tongue. If he wanted to get back into the blond's good graces he couldn't snap at him. Instead he moved back into the room and took a chair at the table.

"That you, Potter?"

Harry nodded, then remembered himself. "Yes."

"So," Draco said, "Why are you here?"

"I don't," Harry started, looking up at Charlie.

The red head smiled. "I'm going to run down to the shops for a minute. You two can handle things, can't you?"

"Oh sure, coward," Draco said.

Harry smiled as Charlie laid his hand on the blond's shoulder before leaving the apartment.

Both men sat silent until the door closed, then Draco said, "So, why are you here?"

Harry took a deep breath. "I wanted to apologize. I was a complete bastard and I drove you off and I want you back."

The dog wandered over and laid her head on Draco's knee. The blond's head tilted towards the dog and long pale fingers carded through the dark fur as Draco said, "What changed?"

Harry was transfixed by the sight of his lover in front of him and healthy and so at peace and he missed the question. "Pardon?"

"What changed, Potter? You wanted me gone, now you want me back? Is there a reason for this or are your feelings seasonal?"

Harry felt his temper rising, but he bit his tongue. "Nothing happened to change my mind. I've been looking for you ever since I found out-"

Draco laughed, a rough bitter bark of a laugh. "Found out what, Potter? What bit of information changed your heart?"

"You- You gave me your eyes, Draco," Harry said weakly.

Draco froze, his fingers tightening in the dog's fur until she whimpered. Draco released Bogart and set his hands on the table.

"Is that it? You found out I gave you my eyes and now you love me again?"

"I- It wasn't like that. I mean, I was upset. I had been blind for so long, and then I got my sight back, and then I found out about you- I wasn't thinking clearly, I didn't know what I was saying."

"'I'd prefer it if you weren't here when I come back.' Isn't that what you said? And, 'I can't look at you right now.' You know, right before that I told you I love you and all you could say was 'I know.'" Draco spoke, his voice as deep and fathomless as the sea, "I find it hard to believe that in that moment you had no idea what you were saying."

Harry brushed at his eyes, trying to wipe away the burgeoning tears. He cleared his throat roughly, and said, "I was blind, I-"

Draco stood up sharply. "So was I, Potter. I was blind. That morning was the first morning I spent in the dark. The first morning of the rest of my life. I needed you with me, I needed you to understand. I needed you to stay by my side the way I stayed with you." He turned and took a few steps towards the bedrooms.

Harry stood quickly, knocking his chair to the floor and at the loud sound Draco stopped. "I'm sorry. Doesn't that mean anything? I'm sorry."

Draco's shoulders slumped and Harry watched the blond raise a hand to his face. When he turned around the sunglasses were gone and Harry got his first look at his love's bare face in months. His eyes were closed as they had been since the surgery, but Harry could see no sign of stitches or sealing. It just looked like they were closed, like Draco was blinking and any second they would open and he could look into those warm and laughing grey orbs again.

Harry gasped.

He could look into those eyes whenever he wanted. Because Draco had given them to him.

Draco smiled a small, sad smile at the sound and put the glasses back on.

"It isn't so bad, is it? No scars, really. Nothing grotesque, I should think. Just a sense of… absence. Most people don't even believe I'm blind. That's why I wear the sunglasses. Thanks to magic I get around a bit better than most blind people can be expected to, but you push me six inches to the left and I'm completely lost."

"It can't be that bad," Harry said, hoping the blond was just exaggerating.

Draco nodded. "It is, actually. I have to memorize landmarks and the number of steps to every place I go. I have to have Braille labels on my food, and Braille tags on my clothes. I fold my money into different shapes so I can distinguish five dollars from twenty, and all of my clocks and appliances are auditory."

Draco's smile widened, but it looked sharper. Sharp enough to cut.

"I actually learned all of this for you, you know? When you were blind for those weeks I studied everything I could to make your life easier. Remember how many times I tried to get you out of the Infirmary? To try different charms and spells? It was frustrating at first, and I felt like I wasted my time finding these things, but they ended up really helpful after all, didn't they?"

Harry had nothing to say to this. His heart was breaking in his chest as Draco kept talking, his voice now a low and painful hiss.

"You have no idea how many nights I waited for you to come after me. I know I left, but I always hoped you would follow me and you never did. I learned everything I needed to know to live like this by myself and you weren't there holding my hand and telling me I could do it, reminding me that I didn't have to be afraid of the- of the darkness."

"Merlin, Draco. You're cutting my heart out," Harry said, the tears now falling down his cheeks.

Draco turned away again and resumed his trip to the bedroom. Over his shoulder he said, "I wasn't aware you still had one. Please close the door behind you." He stepped into the shadows of the bedroom and closed the door behind him, leaving Harry alone in the living room with the dog sitting at his side.

( _12345_ )


	21. Chapter 21

**Draco**

As soon as the bedroom door closed Draco collapsed against it, sliding to the floor and throwing his sunglasses at the wall before burying his face in his hands.

He'd done it. He'd sent Harry away.

In the months since he lost his sight he's imagined their meeting a million different ways.

At first he pictured Harry storming in like the clichéd knight on a white charger, his penitent heart in his hands as he swept Draco into his arms murmuring a stream of apologies and promises.

Very romance novel.

Not that Draco would know.

Then as months passed and Harry never came he imagined a cooler greeting.

In those fantasies Harry was on his knees begging for forgiveness that would… eventually… be granted.

This was nothing like the encounters he'd pictured and the only word that sprang to mind was, why.

"Draco?"

Draco winced. He expected Harry would leave, but the other man was still there.

"Draco?"

"Go away, Potter." Draco tried to keep his voice even and cool, hoping Harry wouldn't hear the thick sound of tears.

There was a silence from the other side of the door, and then, "No."

"No?" Draco could only parrot the stupid, simple word. It felt awkward and unwieldy on his tongue, so he said it again. "No?"

"No, Draco, I won't go. I worked too hard to find you. I can't give up now."

"Give up?" Again with the parroting. Draco shook his head, feeling the temper that had faded to cold shock when he realized Harry found him begin to burn again. "You gave up already. It's over. It's _been_ over."

"I was wrong."

Draco snorted. "You know, I don't believe you've ever said those words to me before." He took a deep breath. "It doesn't matter what you say now Potter."

"It does matter. I love you and I'm not giving up. Again, if that's what you need to hear. I'm not giving up again."

Draco held his breath. Too much was going on, his thoughts flying in a hundred different directions.

"Look Potter, I can't do this right now. You and me. We crashed and burned last time and I can't do that again." And to Draco's disgust the last word broke on a sob.

There was silence from Harry's side of the door and then, "Can we go back to being friends at least?"

Draco couldn't stop himself. He smiled through his tears. "We were never friends, Harry."

"That's not true," Harry said.

"We were never fucking friends, Potter!" Draco's throat was sore from shouting, but it was either shout or let the tears that were on the verge of falling go, and anger seemed the better option.

Draco heard a heavy thump against the other side of the door, followed by a hushing slide.

"Are you sitting down, Potter?"

A pause, then, "Yes."

"You know, you're supposed to leave after that."

"Am I?"

Draco didn't know what to say to that so he said nothing, just absorbed the sensation of the carpet under his feet and the cool breeze coming out of the air conditioning duct.

"We never were friends, were we," Harry asked, musingly.

"No." It was the only answer he had.

"Could we be friends, do you think?"

"I'm not sure."

"Could we try?"

There was something solemn and serious in Harry's tone that forced Draco to think about it, would not let the flat dismissal fall from his lips.

"I don't know."

The silence between them was heavy and before Harry could break it, Draco said, "I need you to go now."

"But—"

"No. I need to think, and you need to think, and you need to go."

He heard Harry rise again and the other man's voice grew fainter as he walked away. "I'm going to give my contact information to Charlie. I love you and I want you back, but after everything that's happened it has to be on your terms." There was a pause and then Harry went on. "This time everything is on your terms. If you decide that you don't want me anymore, then I understand. But if you do, I will be waiting."

Then Draco heard the door open and close and Harry was gone.

For a brief moment he wanted to kick himself. He had him! Harry had been there, in the apartment, only a few feet away. They were so close to getting everything back the way it was.

Before Draco knew it he was halfway across the living room, hoping Harry would still be outside. He reached up to make sure his sunglasses were still in place, but as his fingers encountered only his own skin he froze. Stopped.

His legs suddenly weak beneath him he sank to the floor of the living room. Bogart wandered over and set her head on his shoulders and he reached up to scratch her ears.

What was he doing? Only seconds ago he told Harry to leave, and moments before the other man asked if they could be friends. Draco was torn between getting up again and chasing Harry down and just curling up in a ball on the carpet until everything went away.

There was no going back. There was nothing to go back to. The relationship he and Harry had during the war was over and gone, as thoroughly blown to pieces as Malfoy Manor.

He heard the door open and braced himself. Was it Harry?

"D? Is everything cool now? I saw Harry by the elevator, he looked—"

Draco didn't wait for Charlie to finish. He lurched to his feet and rushed for the door, pushing past the red head and out to the elevator bank.

"Harry? Harry, are you out here?"

His answer was silence.

"He left, D. I saw him get on the elevator myself. What happened?"

Draco ignored Charlie and strained his ears, listening for Harry's breath, or the rustle of his invisibility cloak, any clue that the other man might still be there.

But there was nothing.

Draco put out his right arm and side-stepped slowly until he reached a wall. He leaned heavily against the cool surface and rubbed his other hand over his face.

He heard muffled steps over the thick pile carpet of the hallway and tensed, relaxing when he heard Charlie's voice.

"What happened, D?"

Draco bit back something painful, half giggle, half sob, and said. "I sent him away, Charles. This time **I** sent him away."

Too tired to fight, Draco let Charlie lead him back into the apartment. Even with the two of them inside, it seemed much emptier than it had before.

( _12345_ )


	22. Chapter 22

**Harry**

Every step he took felt heavier but he forced himself to keep going, out of the apartment, the elevator, the building, until he found himself standing on the sidewalk outside at a loss.

Where did he go next?

He knew where Draco was now, so there was no need to search for him anymore. And he presented his case to the blond, so he had nothing left to argue with. His legs shaking as the force of what had just happened rushed through him, Harry staggered over to the cement wall that bordered the garden and collapsed onto it, bracing his elbows on his knees so he could plant his face in his hands.

He sat there for long moments as the sun beat down on the back of his neck. Part of him thought Draco might come running after him and he wanted to wait so the other man could find him. But the larger and more realistic part of him knew that wouldn't happen. Draco had sacrificed a great deal of his pride to be with Harry, to fight for the light side of the war, but this was over and above what the blond could be expected to accept.

"Are you okay?"

Harry heard the voice but he didn't recognize it so he ignored it.

"Hey. Are you- Are you okay?"

Harry flinched away as the warm weight of a hand settled on his shoulder. He didn't want sympathy from a stranger.

"Are you lost? Maybe I can help you."

Harry looked up at the man and forced a smile. "I'm sorry. I'm not lost, I'm fine. But thank you for asking."

The stranger didn't look convinced, but he didn't say anything further, instead turning towards the door of the building and pulling out a cell phone.

Harry put his head down again, this time trying to clear his thoughts away from Draco and he events upstairs. He wanted the blond back, but he had done all he could. It was Draco's move now.

"Chas? It's me, Deacon. Are you guys ready to go?"

Harry listened without meaning to. The dark tones of the man's voice ran over the soft hum of traffic and passing pedestrians. And the name Deacon sounded so familiar…

Harry looked up and when he saw that the man was looking at the door and paying him no attention, he took the time to study him. Short, but thickly muscled, and his skin was much darker than any Harry had seen before in person. Darker than Lee Jordan or Blaise Zabini, it was a shining ebony and seemed to absorb the sunlight. Thick dreadlocks trailed in stark contrast to a pale blue flowered shirt.

Harry saw the man shift and turned away again, not wanting to be caught looking, not sure why he felt embarrassed.

"Hey Deacon."

Charlie's voice came from behind him and Harry turned sharply to see the red headed man exit the building and walk towards the stranger, Deacon. Charlie was smiling and Harry saw a light pink tint to his cheeks that made him smile.

The two men embraced lightly, though for perhaps a second longer than necessary and then pulled back.

Harry turned away sharply and kept his gaze firmly aimed at the building across the street, hoping Charlie hadn't seen him, but he strained his ears to hear what they were talking about.

"Isn't David coming," Deacon asked.

Harry tensed. David? Could they mean Draco?

"I'm afraid not. That attack still has him spooked. I thought I could get him out of the house with us but he's just not feeling up to i—" When the red head cut himself off, Harry knew he had been spotted. "Harry? What are you doing out here?"

Harry shook his head, not turning around. "I'm leaving. I just- I can't leave just yet, but I will."

"What's going on," Deacon asked.

"Sorry Deacon, I can't really discuss it. It's D's business," Charlie replied.

Harry heard shoes scuffing along the pavement before Charlie was standing next to him. A firm hand on his chin forced Harry to look up into painfully sympathetic blue eyes.

"Are you all right?"

Harry pulled his chin away, torn between shaking his head and nodding. He wasn't really sure if he was all right, but Charlie had gone above and beyond to help and he didn't need to be dragged any further into Harry's problems. "I'm okay. You go on, you have a date right," Harry asked, looking from Charlie to Deacon.

A pale pink blush highlighted the freckles on the red heads face as he smiled and stepped back. Charlie still looked concerned, but he nodded. "Okay. If you say you're fine I choose to believe you. Given your record I'm probably an idiot for believing you," Charlie said and Harry felt a hot flush rise in his cheeks, "but I do. Find a hotel, get some rest, go see the ocean. I talked to Draco and I have your information. Give him a little bit of time."

Harry nodded, "I can give him time. I just wish I had some idea of what that time might bring."

Charlie opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but then he shut it tightly. Harry wanted to ask him what he was going to say, but before he had the chance the other man had come up and tucked his hand into the crook of Charlie's elbow. Charlie turned and, seeing the dark-skinned fingers pressed against the fabric of his shirt, blushed a violent shade of red.

When he looked back at Harry, Harry could see that all trace of concern or worry was wiped away by the kind of lustful confusion Harry remembered seeing in his own eyes when he first got together with Draco.

"Is everything okay here, Chas?"

Harry smiled as he watched Charlie try to reply. "I, um. Harry here, and D-David… It's, you know, relationship stuff and…"

The red head trailed off and Harry took pity on him. "I'm the ex-boyfriend. Not Charlie's I mean. Dr- David's ex. I want to get back together but I don't know if he's interested. Things are kind of… iffy, right now."

Deacon let go of Charlie and Harry saw the other man's blush fade with the loss of contact as Deacon moved over to sit on the wall next to Harry.

"I'm not sure what my place is in all of this," Deacon said. "I've only known Chas for a few days, and David for a few months, but maybe an outsider's perspective would help?"

Harry paused for a moment and thought about it. He knew he must look pretty miserable if a complete stranger was offering advice, but at this point what did he have to lose?

"Go ahead. Maybe it would help."

Charlie stepped forward. "Deacon we have reservations." His voice was flat but there was a note of pleading. Harry felt momentarily bad about interrupting Charlie's date. Deacon looked from Harry to Charlie and Harry could see the indecision in his eyes so he decided to ease it.

"It's okay. I have to find a hotel, you guys go on your date." Harry stood up and reached back to brush the dirt from the fence off of the back of his pants. He froze as he felt Deacon's hand settle on his shoulder.

"Look, like I said, I don't know the situation, but if you love him and if you think there's a chance, and if he's worth it, you can't give up. That's all I'm going to say." Deacon took his hand off of Harry's shoulder and moved back to Charlie's side. Charlie grasped his hand and Harry smiled t the sight of their intertwined fingers, his heart feeling a bit lighter.

"Harry," Charlie said, "You might want to write him a letter or something, say what you need to say, get it off of your chest."

Harry nodded at his friend, then watched as he and Deacon turned and walked away down the street. Harry looked back at the building, trying to spot Draco's balcony.

"Maybe I can…" he mumbled to himself, before pushing his hands into his pockets and walking toward the curb. he was going to follow both Charlie and Deacon's advice. He was going to find a hotel, then go to the beach. And then he had a letter to write.

He knew exactly how it would begin.

_Dear Draco,_

_I'm afraid of the dark._

( _12345_ )


	23. Interlude

**Draco \- Interlude  
**

Draco wanted to leave, to turn around and storm out of the room, but he couldn't. He wasn't sure if it was a sense of obligation, or how sticky the floor beneath his feet was.

"Isn't this amazing," Charlie half-shouted in his ear over the thumping music.

It was the floor.

"Yeah, Charles. It's amazing."

Draco wasn't sure what had convinced him to go along with Charlie, but he cursed it under his breath as the red head dragged him through the crowd. People pressed in on him on every side, his ears rang with the loud, thumping music playing around him, and the air was thick with the smell of fog machine vapor and cigarette smoke.

Draco tugged on Charlie's hand, pulling his friend closer to him. "Can we go now? You proved your point, I needed to get out more. I got out, and now I want to go home."

The red head shouted over the music. "Come on, we only just got here. One drink, one dance."

Draco tried to reply, but before he had a chance Charlie was pulling him onward, and he had to focus to keep hold of the other man's hand. He couldn't bring Bogart to the club, and there was no room for his cane in the crush, so Charlie was Draco's only anchor.

It wasn't the first time Draco had gone to a dance club. In the weeks he and Blaise had spent at Grimmaud Place the two of them, along with the Golden Gryffindors, had made a few clandestine trips to gay and straight dance clubs in muggle London. It wasn't even the first time he'd been to a night club blind. Hamilton House was very thorough in it's practical training, Draco had made sure of that when he chose the place, but their outings were more dignified, the group of patients going from the door straight to a VIP room where they could socialize and enjoy the music without being overwhelmed. This experience…

"Draco? Draco!"

Draco as shocked out of his reverie as he felt the red heads breath against his face. He could tell from the pressure that Charlie was yelling, but with the music as loud as it was he could still barely hear the man.

"Draco… … … …dance … this bloke. … you to … table. Come with-"

Charlie paused and Draco could feel him shift and turn away. He felt Charlie's fingers slipping out of his own and he reached out for the red head's hand but he couldn't find it and the bodies around him pressed in closer.

"Charlie? Charlie!"

Even through the music Draco could hear the edge of hysteria in his voice. He forced himself to calm down. Panic wouldn't help him, it would only make things worse.

Straining his senses he tried to find Charlie. He knew what the red head was wearing, his cologne, the sound of his voice, but in the dizzying maelstrom of sounds and scents he was lost.

Up until this point Draco's nightmares had been of complete solitude and silence in an ink black featureless void. He wondered if there would be a replacement for that terror now.

He was jostled from side to side as the crowd around him surged. The music grew louder and Draco could feel the heat of lights on his skin. It seemed to get hotter and hotter and Draco couldn't get his bearings. He reached out again, trying to find Charlie, trying to find a way out, off of the dance floor. He knew from Charlie's description that the dance floor was in the middle of a larger room and he could get to the edge, get out if he tried, but it seemed like every time he took a step the crowd pushed him back.

Draco felt someone grab his outstretched hand and he clasped it tightly, thanking the gods silently that Charlie had come back.

"Hey man, are you okay?"

The voice was unfamiliar and deep, a man's voice, but Draco didn't care. He just wanted to get out.

"No, can you help me out of the crowd?"

The unfamiliar voice said, "Sure, come with me."

Draco followed the strange man, holding tight to his hand. In a few steps that felt like they took forever, he was free of the crowd. The floor under his feet had changed from hard sticky parquet to a softer surface, carpet, and they moved away from the worst of the noise so Draco could actually hear some of what was around him.

The man holding his hand led him a few feet more before setting Draco's hand on what felt like the back of a chair.

"Here, you can sit down. You need some water or something? The bathroom?"

Draco shook his head and moved slowly to sit down, never taking his hand off of the chair. "No, I'm fine. I just needed to get out of there." Draco rubbed his temples.

The man's heavy hand settled on his shoulder and Draco flinched away before he could stop himself.

"Hey bruh, relax. Kimo, get him some water or something, man." This was another unfamiliar voice, different from the first, and Draco felt the man at his shoulder move away as the new voice moved closer.

"So, you blind?"

Draco nodded. "Yeah. How did you guess anyway?"

"Kimo's the size of a truck, the only person on Earth he could sneak up on would have to be blind. The sunglasses are a pretty good clue too."

Draco reached up to his face, his hands brushing cool metal as he felt the wire frames of his glasses. He smiled, chagrined. "I didn't even think about it."

"No reason you would. I'm Leland, by the way."

Draco felt long cool fingers brush his own and he shook the offered hand firmly.

"Pleased to meet you, Leland. I'm David."

"Here you go," Kimo said, setting something heavy on the table that made it shift a bit under Draco's elbows.

Draco felt Leland's cool fingers against his hand again, moving it towards a damp glass. Draco took the glass and slid his fingertips to the top. Short and thick, it felt like a tumbler. He set his index finger at the lip and dipped it in slightly to see how full the glass was, finding cold liquid about two centimeters below the edge. To be on the safe side, he tilted the glass slightly, shifting it until he felt a plastic straw fall against his fingers. Holding it in place he was finally able to lift the glass to his lips without worrying he might jab himself in the cheek or something more embarrassing.

Drinking was just one of a thousand things that had become harder since he lost his sight.

He sipped at what turned out to be cold, stale tasting water. He felt calmer now, sitting down outside of the crowd, but he was still lost, surrounded by strangers.

"You feeling better," Leland said. Draco nodded, setting the glass down on the table but keeping his fingers on it so he wouldn't have to hunt for it later. "I'm kind of surprised you're here on your own," Leland went on. Draco started to reply before the other man cut him off. "I mean, not that you can't do whatever you want. Being blind has nothing to do with anything, I just… Of all people, I… Kimo? Help me out here."

Draco heard Kimo's low rumbling laugh under the music. "No ways, I think you're doing a great job digging that hole. Keep going."

Draco smiled and let Leland off the hook. "I'm here with a friend, but I think he's on the pull and priorities are priorities." After that there was a bit of discussion over what 'on the pull' mean and that segued into a conversation about British, American, and Hawaiian sexual slang as Draco found himself relaxing into the company of these two men, laughing harder than he had laughed in a long time.

"David?"

Charlie's voice broke through the music and Draco turned towards the sound. "Hi Charles. These are my two new friends, Kimo and Leland," he said, gesturing towards where he thought the other two men were sitting. "We've been having a lovely time, and yourself?"

Draco kept his voice even. He wasn't angry at the red head but he didn't want Charlie to know that just yet. Despite the fact that Draco couldn't see the other man squirm he still enjoyed the idea of it. As Charlie himself had said, becoming one of the 'good guys' hadn't completely stolen Draco's slightly perverse sense of humor.

"I, um... There was this bloke and I swear I only turned away for a moment and…"

Draco could hear the blush in Charlie's voice and decided to be merciful. "Yes, I suppose I just got confused and moved away." Draco started to say something else, but it was broken off by a massive yawn. Pressing his fingers to his watch face to 'read' the time, he chuckled. "It's 2 already. I had no idea the evening would move so quickly."

Leland laughed. "I guess we're just that entertaining. But it is late." There was a pause, and Draco couldn't hear anything over the music until Leland spoke again, "Kimo and I were going to go to Zippy's and get something to eat before we head home, would you two like to join us?"

Draco pressed a hand to his stomach. He and Charlie had eaten before they went out, but that was many hours gone by now. "I could eat something. Charlie?" Draco laughed again. "Never mind, I don't know why I asked, knowing your appetite." Draco turned towards Leland's voice. "We'd love to join you."

Slowly the four men moved away from the table and through the thinning club crowd. Draco held tight to Charlie's hand as they made their way to the door out onto the street.

"There's a Zippy's a few blocks from here, good wide sidewalks and not too many obstacles to maneuver around," Leland said.

Draco paused. The other man's voice sounded… lower… than it should have been. Reaching out gently with his free hand he found the rubberized handles of a wheelchair.

"Leland," Draco said, hearing the questioning tone in his voice even through the ringing in his ears.

"He's just a slacker. His prosthetics are in the van but he likes sitting around and making people wait on him." Kimo's voice was steady and warm, affectionate even, and Draco's hand dropped back to his side. It wasn't his business.

The four men walked and rolled to the Zippy's four blocks away from the club. Draco sat leaning over a bowl of saimin, enjoying the scent of the steam that swelled up from the bowl. Charlie and Kimo started debating the 'Bows chances in the fall and Draco smiled.

"It was a car accident, if you were wondering." Leland's voice was quiet. "I, uh, I was drunk. I flipped my car and got pinned under the steering wheel. They saved what they could, and here I am, rolling through eternity."

Draco noticed that Kimo and Charlie had stopped talking, and now it seemed as though Leland was done as well, leaving only him to break the silence that had fallen over their small table.

"Sorry, is it tragic tales time again?" Draco felt Charlie's hand on his arm but shrugged it off. Every conversation he had with someone new invariably led to this topic and he was more than sick of dredging up his past. "Did you want to know how I lost my sight? I wasn't born blind if you're interested. It only happened a few months ago, and I very much do not want to talk about the circumstances."

This time when Charlie reached out to him Draco did not push him away, instead leaning into the steady warmth of his friend as he absently jabbed his chopsticks into his rapidly cooling noodles.

"I guess we do get kind of caught up in how we- Sorry. Okay, so we're not going to discuss this. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring anything up that would upset you. It just tends to be the first thing people ask and I thought you might want to know since, but…"

Leland was babbling and Draco was oddly comforted by that. It made things normal, human. Draco felt chagrined for his reaction. "No, I'm sorry. I acted poorly. This is a recent condition for me, and it was… a difficult transition. But that doesn't excuse my behavior. Let's start from scratch." Draco sat upright and set his chopsticks down on his napkin before reaching across the table. "David Mallow, blind blond British ex-pat. Hobbies include long walks on the beach and wallowing in self-pity, and you are?"

Leland laughed and Draco felt warm fingers wrap around his own. "Leland James, three-fourths of a devastatingly handsome ex-Marine, hobbies include chess and putting my foot in my mouth, when I can find it."

Draco could almost feel Kimo and Charlie relax and he grinned. "I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship."

( _12345_ )


	24. Chapter 24

**Draco**

Draco was on his way out the door when the building's manager stopped him. "Mr. Mallow, wait, I have something for you."

Draco braced himself. The manager, Lani, was very nice but she'd gotten the idea that Draco needed tending to and every other day she forced food or household goods on him. Usually it was food. Unfortunately she wasn't a very good cook, but Draco didn't have the heart to tell her that so he had to accept the packages as graciously as he could while trying to figure out a way to get rid of them. His stomach was already twisting at the thought of ice cold lumpia or grease-sodden malasadas, otherwise delicious items that Draco enjoyed when they were prepared by other people. Draco flinched back in shock as something light was pressed into his extended hands.

"You got this letter. The address wasn't in Braille so I thought I would give it to you personally, make sure you got it."

Draco opened his mouth to ask why Lani hadn't just left it in his letter box as usual before she cut him off. "It's from a young man, someone named Harry…" Her voice trailed off and Draco could hear a wheedling note enter it. Lani was a wonderful person, a horrible cook, and an incorrigible gossip.

"If you need me to, I could read it to you. In case you don't want your roommate to see it."

Draco bit back a smile. That was her game. Lani was convinced that Draco and Charlie were lovers and now that Charlie had been seeing Deacon for a few weeks the older woman seemed to believe she was in the middle of some big gay soap opera.

"No, thank you, Lani. I'll just ask Charles to read it to me," Draco said, deflating her excitement in as gentle a tone as he could.

"Well, if you're sure," Lani said, giving up graciously. "I'm going to be cooking a big meal on Sunday so I need to get shopping. I'll bring you boys some leftovers."

Before Draco had the chance to demur he felt her muumuu brush against his feet and heard the front door of the building open and close.

"Thank you." He paused, hoping no one was around before continuing, "But I'd really rather you not." Though Draco didn't think much of the way he was raised in general, he did learn to be civil and he really couldn't bring himself to turn the older woman's offerings down.

His attention turned back to the letter in his hand and Draco brushed his fingers across the paper, feeling his thumb catch on the flap as his fingers found the rough edges of the stamp.

Draco couldn't feel anything on the surface of the letter that would tell him who it was from, and he couldn't think of any Harry that would be writing him. He felt Bogart tugging lightly on the leash and shook his head. "This will have to wait until later," he muttered to himself before slipping the envelope into his shoulder bag.

Hours later he walked back into his apartment with a sigh of relief. It was his first proper day back to work. The children were thrilled to have him back, but Draco was saddened to hear that Peter had been suspended from the program for his behavior and attitude towards Draco and the other helpers. Draco couldn't help but feel guilty for his part in getting the two boys, Harry and Peter, ejected from the program, even if it was just for a temporary period in Peter's case.

He'd gone to lunch with Leland afterwards and it raised his spirit's a bit, but he was still tired and disheartened as he stepped into the flat. He unclipped Bogart's leash and heard the dog wander into the apartment.

"Tough day," Charlie said, his voice sounding distant.

Draco looked up, towards the kitchen and the sound of Charlie's voice. "I've had better. But then again I have had much worse so I'm not going to complain."

Charlie laughed. The great Draco Malfoy not complaining? I think the world has come to an end."

Draco laughed a bit. "I suppose I do whinge." He stood up from where he had crouched on the floor and walked towards the sofa, taking a seat on the cushy surface. "It was alright. Peter got suspended for his behavior, poor pet."

"It's not your fault, D," Charlie said, his voice coming closer until Draco felt the sofa shift from the added weight. "Here, you still have your bag on."

Draco felt a tug on the strap of his shoulder bag and leaned forward, letting Charlie pull it off of him. He knew he was exhausted, but to forget he had his bag on meant he was even more tired than he thought.

"I saw Lani this morning. She gave me a very significant look. She's not cooking again, is she?"

Draco grinned. "Actually she is. So have your appetite ready. Actually she had a letter for me." Draco reached out to take back his bag and fished the letter from the inside pocket. The paper was creased beneath his fingers, but it wasn't that damaged. He held it out to Charlie, "She said it's from someone named Harry. Do I know anyone named Harry?"

Even as he said it, Draco's stomach sank. He did know a Harry. But as quickly as the thought came to him, Draco shook it off. He had made himself more than clear the last time he spoke to Harry. This letter couldn't possibly be from him. They had nothing left to say to each other.

The couch shifted and Draco heard Charlie clear his throat roughly. "Do you- Do you want me to read that for you?"

Drco shook his head, "No. No, I can read it." he turned to face Charlie, "Weren't you going somewhere?"

There was a pause and then the couch moved again as Charlie stood up. "Yeah, I was going to go to the store. We need a few things and I thought I might get take-out, Korean okay?"

Draco nodded. "Yeah, thanks."

"I'll get your usual," Charlie said as he walked to the door, his voice moving in the room. "But if they're out of the tae gu I'm getting more of the daikon stuff I like."

Draco waved in assent, his other hand gripping he letter tightly. He listened to the redhead open the door, then close it and sat in silence for long moments until the only sounds in the apartment were Bogart's claws tapping on the linoleum and Draco's own unsteady breaths.

Satisfied that he was completely alone, Draco stood up and walked to the desk against the wall. The desk was his communication center. It held his Braille typewriter and voice recorder, along with a few other gadgets. Most of them were completely muggle, but there were a few he had enhanced with magic and it was one of these that he turned to now.

The desk top computer was shared, his and Charlie's both, but Draco had found some software designed specifically for the visually impaired. Working with his scanner it could 'read' any document out loud in an almost human voice. That was satisfactory for most documents, but with a little magical assistance Draco had made a few adjustments to the machine. He programmed the machine to recognize the magical signature of his friends and then the machine could 'read' the writing in that person's voice using their spoken intonations so it sounded as if they were just in the room. Charlie was in there, and Pomphrey, and Blaise, as well as Neville. The machine was even sensitive enough to provide Neville's original voice.

Sometimes it even provided emotional tones, if the writer's magic had been disturbed in any way by happiness or anger. And this is what Draco was afraid of because in a fit of optimism he had added Harry's magic to the scanner and he dreaded to hear the other man's voice again, unsure if he could stay strong in the face of those emotions.

Bracing himself Draco stood from the couch and crossed the room. The scanner and computer sprang to life with the press of a few buttons and soon it was humming away, warm beneath Draco's fingertips.

He opened the letter carefully, trying not to mangle the envelope too badly despite his shaking hands. Slowly he fed the letter into the tray and waited. It would take a few seconds for the magic in the scanner to connect with the software and spring to life.

The gravity of what he might hear swept over Draco and he sank into the comfortably padded desk chair, gripping the armrests tight as he heard that too-familiar voice fill the room.

_Dear Draco,_

There was a long pause after this and Draco held his breath until he heard Harry's voice again.

_I'm afraid of the dark._

Draco scoffed

_I know it's silly, considering everything that's happened in my life. Should be more frightened of spiders, or snakes, or Dark Lords or something, but when it comes to pure freezing terror the dark gets me every time._

_I guess it started when I was child, like most of these things do. The Dursleys didn't want me, not at all, and they went out of their way to pretend I didn't exist for most of my childhood._

_My room for a very long time was a cupboard under the stairs. There was no light inside, it had been meant for storage, a place to keep all of the forgotten things. During the day I had the freedom to move around the house and yard, and I went to school. There was no darkness out there, but once I got back to the cupboard._

_I used to sleep next to the door the door, my face on the floor pressed against the crack. Petunia left the kitchen light on in case Vernon or Dudley needed a midnight snack. Not a lot of light made it's way down the hall to me, but it was enough, just enough, for me to sleep without nightmares._

Draco reached out and stopped the scanner. His chest ached at the sound of tears in Harry's voice. Pulling the letter from the scanner he felt rough patches on the paper, spots where some moisture had fallen on the page.

"Merlin," Draco muttered before bringing the letter up to his mouth and brushing it against his lips. The scent of Harry's cologne rose from the page, mingling with the scent of fresh paper and somewhere beneath that salt. "I don't know if I can listen to this anymore."

Draco felt something heavy bump into his leg and took one hand away from the letter to rub Bogart's furry head. "I have to listen to the rest, don't I," he asked the dog. Bogart sneezed in response, bring a chuckle to Draco's throat. The laugh fought for space past the lump of emotion that had been building up and when it finally broke loose it sounded a bit more like a sob.

Taking a deep breath Draco leaned forward and replaced the letter on the scanner, turning it on again. He leaned back, his hand still buried in Bogart's fur as Harry went on.

_I used to dream about being trapped in the darkness. One night the electricity went out at the Dursleys and the kitchen light went black. I had never been in a darkness like that. There was no end to it, it felt like the entire world disappeared, like I disappeared. I wrapped my arms around my chest and pushed my face even closer into the crack between the bottom of the door and the floor, thinking if I could only get further there might be light._

_I didn't sleep that entire night and when the morning came and my aunt let me out of the cupboard I ran for a window, any window, so I could see sunlight. My face was scraped and bleeding from being pressed so close to the door, but I didn't care. There was light again, I wasn't lost anymore._

_After I got my Hogwarts letter the Dursley's moved me into Dudley's second bedroom and I had a window. I had sun during the day and the moon and stars at night and it never got that dark again. And then I got to Hogwarts and there were always candles or torches, or a charm to give me light._

_Then the Final Battle came. In that moment the entire world was light, and then it faded and there was nothing but endless black._

_I think… I think for those weeks when I was completely blind I went a little mad. Everything was darkness. I could hear voices and I knew you were with me, but nothing felt real, I wasn't real. For that time I was little again, trapped in a tiny black room alone, my face pressed to the door searching for light._

_I've apologized for the way I acted after I got my vision back, but I never tried to explain my reaction. And now that I'm trying I don't know how. I think- I think the idea that I had when I got my sight back, that you had been blind with me the entire time, made me feel abandoned again, like you were apart from me if that makes any sense. If I wasn't real in the darkness, then neither were you. I just felt lied to. The entire time I was blind you were my eyes, and then thinking it had all been deceit?_

_I don't know if that even makes sense. None of it makes sense._

_I'm still afraid of the dark, Draco. I sleep with a night light, a small lantern next to my bed shaped like a dragon. It's eyes glow pale blue and it's bright enough that I can see my entire room._

_But sometimes I turn it off, and I sit there in the darkness, and I try to hear your voice. I remember the stories you told me. I remember them all._

_But only in the dark._

_Love,_

_Harry_

The voice stopped then and Draco took the letter off of the scanner and folded it carefully, following the creases, then slid it back into the envelope. He didn't quite press the missive against his chest, but he did hold it for a long moment, picturing Harry lying alone in the darkness and hearing the other man's words ringing in his ears.

( _12345_ )


	25. Chapter 25

**Harry**

Harry went home.

He couldn't think of anything else to do. He wrote the letter in one great rush, practically vomiting his feelings onto the page, and then mailed it off without rereading it. He spent the rest of the week-end in his hotel room, watching telly and ordering things from room service that he couldn't bring himself to eat. He thought about going to the beach, or visiting some tourist attraction, but he just didn't feel like it. The purpose of this visit was to see Draco and he'd done that. There was nothing else to do.

On Monday morning he decided to go home, to England. There was no epiphany, no big realization. He hadn't gotten a response from Draco and after everything that had happened… Well, he couldn't count on ever getting a reply.

He had to let the blond make his own decision, and Harry knew if he stayed in Hawaii he would be tempted to go to Draco again, to try and convince the other man to take him back. And that wouldn't be fair. Any decision Draco made had to be his alone. Harry said his piece, the next move was Draco's and Harry would respect that.

Harry packed his belongings, paid his bill, and made his way to the airport. He thought taking the Muggle route home would give him more time to think and he was right, but it was too much time.

Harry kept going over the few moments where he had interacted with Draco. Between the time he got to the blond's apartment and the time he left it must have spanned no more than fifteen minutes. And nothing in that period gave Harry any inkling of hope.

He tried to turn his attention to the in-flight movie but it was some lame comedy set in the 80's and it didn't hold his attention. A few hours into the flight he fell into a dreamless sleep.

Harry was woken by a gentle nudge to his shoulder. He blinked blearily at the beaming smile of the flight attendant.

"We'll be landing soon sir, please return your seat to an upright position and gather your things."

Harry nodded, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He adjusted his chair and folded the jacket that he had laid over his lap. Looking around his seat he gathered up the rubbish left from his mid-flight snack, and pulled the book he had been reading from where it had fallen by his feet.

His ears popped as the plane settled into the tarmac, rolling to a stop along the runway. Through the window Harry could see the airport and he unsnapped his seatbelt.

Hermione was waiting at the gate for him, Ron at his side, tall on his crutches. Harry saw that some of the passers by were giving his friends odd looks, whether it was due to the crutches or the way the empty sleeve of Hermione's jumper was pinned up he wasn't sure. It bothered him, it had always bothered him, but as Hermione never complained and Ron would eventually be off of the crutches Harry didn't say anything.

"Hey mate, how did it go," Ron asked as Harry walked up to them.

"It went as well as can be expected I guess."

Hermione looked at him with sympathetic eyes, "I'm sorry, Harry. I know what you were expecting from that visit."

Harry laughed and it grated in his throat. He wiped a hand over his eyes, they felt suspiciously damp, and said, "Do you? I didn't even know what I was expecting."

Ron moved closer and patted Harry on the back. Harry looked at his friend, hoping for some optimism, some kind of encouragement, but Ron only looked uncomfortable. "What will be, will be, eh?"

"Right then," Hermione said, "Let's get your luggage and get out of here."

With that she turned and marched off, every line of her posture reminding Harry of the girl he first met on the Hogwarts Express. Fighting back a lump in his throat he turned to Ron, seeing that his friend had a sheen of tears in his eyes. Harry cleared his throat roughly a few times until he had Ron's attention, and then grinned. "Think I should tell her I don't have any luggage?"

Ron looked from Harry to Hermione, getting further away, before looking back. He grinned. "Nah, she'll find out."

Harry grinned as well and together the two men walked towards the luggage carousel after Hermione.

After they met up with Hermione and let her steam a few minutes waiting for the luggage Harry didn't have they let her off the hook. She responded by punching both men quite hard on the arm, giving Harry what he was sure would be a nasty bruise and nearly knocking Ron off of his crutches.

Harry rushed forward to help his friend, but he could not stop himself from muttering, "Should have known better. You're the one engaged to her."

Ron smiled, his face developing the silly glow it had every time he spoke of his and Hermione's upcoming wedding. "Yeah, she's pretty strong, isn't she."

"Yeah she is," Harry said, stepping away from Ron and letting Hermione come forward to tend to her fiancé, alternately scolding him for tricking her and asking if he was alright.

It was a nice scene, domestic, romantic. And Harry wondered if he might ever have a moment like that with Draco, if they would ever feel comfortable enough to tease each other and support each other the way the other couples Harry knew did.

Harry took a moment of self-indulgence to imagine himself and Draco in that position. Together in the middle of the airport, not caring if anyone was looking, not even needing to talk because they both knew how the other one felt, looking into each other's eye-

Shaking himself out of this sudden melancholy, Harry coughed harshly to break them out of what was clearly pre-snogging behavior. Hermione's face turned as red as Ron's hair and Ron just leered. Harry laughed. "Enough of that you two. Save it for your room, eh? Let's go."

Together the three friends left the air port and if Hermione stayed close enough to Ron that her hand could occasionally brush his side or back Harry tried not to notice.

The next few days passed into weeks without Harry noticing. He spent his time trying to get Grimmauld Place in order. He wasn't sure at first if he wanted to call the old house his 'home' but even if it wasn't as Sirius' legacy the least he could do was fix it up. But the more he worked on it the more it became his own space, somewhere he could imagine putting down proper roots.

If anyone asked he remodeled it with his tastes in mind and not for Draco but that didn't stop him from keeping the floor plan and knick-knacks to a minimum and focusing more on texture than color.

Wards protected the house from the wizarding world but Harry still received mail from the muggle post. He also received owls from the few people he trusted enough to let through his wards. And even though he called himself twenty kinds of fool, every day he found himself starting whenever he heard the postman step up to the door, or an owl scratching at the window pane.

There would always be something, notes from his friends and family, invitations to any number of parties he had absolutely no interest in attending, advertisements offering amazing deals on things he did not want to buy.

But nothing came from Draco.

Weeks passed. Ron healed well enough that he and Hermione decided to move into their own apartment. They said they wanted to get a sense of what real married life would be like and Harry couldn't begrudge them even though he didn't really want them to leave. The house felt very empty without them.

The remodel had gone well. Harry fancied the place looked better than it ever had, even before the war and years of dark magic had done their worst. The wood gleamed, the fabrics shone, and there wasn't a bit of dust anywhere to be seen. Each hall smelled of fresh air and flowers from the garden he had planted in the back, and the sun streamed merrily in through the large windows, falling over the freshly polished furniture like gold.

And Harry was alone. Though even in the depths of his self pity he could admit that wasn't true. He had the Weasley's, and Neville and Blaise, and even the Dursleys. But they all had their own homes and their own lives and at the end of the visit Harry went back to Grimmauld Place by himself.

It was almost enough to make him wish he'd kept that portrait of Walburga Black.

Almost.

Not quite.

Once the house was fully redone Harry turned his attention to other things. In the months after he got his vision back he had been obsessed with finding Draco. Now that he knew where the blond was and he was waiting for Draco to make a move, Harry found himself with time on his hands.

So Harry found a project. Actually he found several, or rather they found him. In the wake of the war a great change had gone on in the wizarding world. With so much destroyed the ministry had decided that, rather than rebuild things as they had been, they would make them better.

Azkaban had been one of the first. Based on the most advanced muggle prisons and the work of the best minds of the wizarding world it was now safer than it had ever been, and without the draining, unpredictable, presence of the Dementors it became a place where criminals could be held securely but humanely and where there was a possibility of rehabilitation.

Hogwarts was worked on at the same time. One committee took charge of the physical and magical care of the school while another, headed by an effervescent Hermione, redrafted the school's curriculum to ensure that students were treated equally and fully prepared to face whatever the world presented them.

Once those priority areas were done they had moved on to the main shopping districts, Diagon Alley and Knockturn. Harry marveled at the difference as he walked down the clean cobblestone streets with Blaise and Neville.

"Quit gawping, Potter. You look like a country cousin."

Harry smiled. "I can't help it. Everything looks so new."

Blaise looked around and grinned. "That's because it is new. More than half of these storefronts had to be completely reconstructed." The former Slytherin's grin shifted into a smirk, "We could add some dust, grime, and cobwebs if you prefer. For atmosphere."

Harry shook his head, moving to punch Blaise lightly on the shoulder. Neville reached over and blocked Harry's hand, instead pulling Blaise towards him until the two of them were walking down the street pressed together from chest to hip, their steps matching up in a way that Harry would have found incredibly cute if he weren't so jealous.

Blaise's hand on his arm broke him from his thoughts and Harry turned to face the other boy's somber gaze.

"Nothing yet?"

Harry hadn't intended to tell anyone about the letter. But he had to tell Ron and Hermione, and then Neville was so easy to talk to… But of course Neville and Blaise shared everything, so now Harry had four people who were almost as eager to see a response from Draco as he was.

Harry shook his head. "Nothing. But I'm not thinking about it."

Blaise smiled, clearly not believing him, before turning his attention to Neville and pointing to the new confectioner's.

A pall cast over the afternoon, Harry stopped, getting the other two men's attention. "I'm going to head off. Got errands to run, y'know. You two go on ahead, have a lovely time."

Neville nodded and Blaise looked like he might say something before stopping himself. "Alright Potter. We'll see you for dinner next week, right? We have wedding plans to make."

Harry nodded, smiling. Surprising everyone involved it was Ron that had insisted on hiring Blaise to do the wedding and reception planning. As smart as Hermione was she was busy with Hogwarts and she had more than enough on her hands. Er, hand. Harry grimaced at the turn his thoughts had taken. He shook it off and waved good bye to Neville and Blaise before turning to leave the Alley.

Harry got back to Grimmaud Place as the sun was setting and he stopped for a few minutes in the doorway to watch the last wash of color cross the sky.

When it was done he went inside, closing the door behind him and taking off his coat. He made his way into the kitchen and began pulling out the ingredients for his dinner. Something light with lots of veg sounded good.

As he washed, peeled, and chopped Harry let his thoughts drift. The sunset had been beautiful and he'd never really appreciated them before he lost his sight. In those first few weeks after he got his vision back he watched everything with a new sense of wonder. His new eyes, Draco's eyes, were sharper than his own had been and he got to see everything around him clearly without glasses for the first time in his life. Colors were brighter, and everything seemed so vibrant.

He'd made a point, then, of watching as many sunsets and sunrises as he could, and searching for new things to observe. Draco had made an immense sacrifice for him and he felt like he would be wasting it if he didn't. In his farewell note Draco said he wanted the world to be beautiful for Harry, and it truly was.

But Harry wondered sometimes if he wasn't starting to take his vision for granted.

The scent of bell peppers just this side of scorching broke him from his musing and Harry turned his attention back to the pan. While he was daydreaming his peppers and onions were done and from the amount of steam in the air the rice was cooked as well. Harry took his stir fry off of the burner and slid the vegetables onto a plate. Taking the plate over to his rice cooker his dished up a few scoops of the hot white rice.

Harry brought his plate over and set it on the table before going to grab a fork from the drawer and then pouring himself a glass of white wine. He sat down at his usual seat and took a deep breath of his meal, his stomach growling.

Pushing his negative thoughts out of mind Harry turned his attention to his meal, making a point to savor everything about it. The scent was rich and it made his mouth water before he even got the first taste. He chewed each bite slowly, enjoying the sweet savory flavor of teriyaki sauce and the juiciness of the vegetables, still firm but wonderfully juicy. The wine was cold and crisp, a perfect contrast to the food.

There were vanilla biscuits for afters and Harry decided to be lazy, putting his dirty dishes into the sink and leaving them for the morning, before taking a mug of tea and the biscuits into the parlor.

On his way into the other room something caught his eyes, a bit of white tucked under the front door. Harry moved towards it, setting the biscuits and tea on the small table by the door and picking it up. It was a small envelope, the paper thick and bright white, obviously good quality. It looks like some sort of invitation and Harry really didn't want to attend any functions so he tossed it towards the basket on the table. He would read it in the morning, and draft a courteous reply then.

As it fell he saw a bit of bright color so he picked up the envelope again. It was muggle post and the stamp was a vivid picture of a plumeria blossom, bright pink and yellow.

It was postmarked Hawaii.

Harry sank to the floor gripping the envelope tightly, the biscuits and his tea completely forgotten.

Hawaii.

He'd been in communication with Charlie regularly through the rest of the Weasley family and there was no one else he knew in the states, especially that state, so there was only one person this could be from. Harry's fingers were trembling as he traced the stamp, the lip of the envelope, and finally his own printed address. There was no return address on the envelope and Harry chided his racing heart, telling himself to calm down and that it didn't really mean anything.

But, oh, he hoped.

With a few tugs and the edge of his thumbnail, the envelope seemed to fall apart, leaving a plain white note card.

Harry opened it slowly and scanned the inside quickly, two times, three. He finally stopped and closed it again. He hadn't read a word, too excited and dizzy to make any sense of them.

Carefully he stood up, bracing himself on the wall, and walked back into the kitchen. He set the note card at his place then eased his chair out from under the table trying to ignore the way his legs shook and his fingers trembled.

Taking his seat and a deep, shuddering breath, Harry picked up the card again, forcing himself to focus on each word until he understood it, then the next, then the next.

_Harry,_

_I have drafted this response several times and I am still not sure what to say. I can tell you I miss you, and I can tell you I love you, but perhaps that is not enough anymore. I wonder sometimes how well I ever knew you, or you knew me. We fell in love as children, in the middle of a war. We weren't even people yet, just masses of hormones and emotions in the middle of a maelstrom._

_I was not expecting your letter. In all of our time together we shared fantasies, how we felt, what we would do when we grew up, what life would be like when the war was over. But we never shared the realities of our lives. And perhaps that is the cause of this. Our relationship was based on crushes and proximity, nothing more._

_If we met now, as strangers, perhaps we could build a real relationship. We could deal with each other on equal terms and get to know everything about one another, the wistful dreams and the most painful nightmares, over time, naturally._

_And so I am making a step, in the hopes that it is only the first of a long journey that will end in a future we will share._

_Hello, my name is Draco Malfoy and I want to know everything about you…_

**The End**

( _12345_ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last full chapter. Upcoming will be the epilogue. I hope you have enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it.


	26. Epilogue

**Harry \- Epilogue**

Harry let himself into the Weasley house.  The wards had been set to recognize him from his first visit and never made him feel less than welcome.

Letting that feeling of ‘home’ and ‘family’ wash over him he took off his jacket and hung it on the coat tree before making his way further into the house.  He heard voices coming from the living room but he moved towards the kitchen, hoping to find Molly.  He was working on the Famous Weasley Shortbread recipe and something had gone terribly wrong.

He found the woman standing in front of the pantry door speaking to someone just behind her.

“You say it’s called a ‘musubi’ dear?  And you can put anything in it?”

“Anything at all.  Tinned meat, tinned fish, sausage.  If you can think of it you can put it in a musubi.  They’re very clever, really.  Meat, rice, and veg in one hand.”

The voice was familiar, almost painfully so.  They’d been exchanging letters regularly and in the latest one it seemed like there was something…but Draco would have mentioned—

“Hello Molly,” Harry said.

Mrs. Weasley turned to him with open arms and Harry stepped into her embrace, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them again.  “And who is this?”

She blinked.  “Harry, you know who this is.  This is Dra-“

The other man stepped forward, his hand outstretched.  “Draco Malfoy, here.  And you must be Harry Potter.  I’ve heard so much about you.”

Harry felt cool slim fingers close around his own and he tightened his grip, tugging the blond towards him.

“So pleased to meet you,” Harry said, smiling. 

( _12345_ )

**Author's Note:**

> This is chapter 1 of Blind Sight - previously posted under the same title/author name on ff.net. It is largely finished - pending the epilogue that I am working on now - so I will be moving it here chapter by chapter. 
> 
> Honestly I am hoping that by going over my older work and exposing it to a new audience I can jump start my writing juices. It's been a long time since a story really carried me away and I miss it.


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